Alice approached him, and drew her arm around his neck. He started as if from a trance, and said—“That was well, very well. I like that music. There, now, Ally, you and Walter take a walk through the grounds. I’ll light a cigar, and sit here by myself, and—And dream! hey, Walter!” Alice left him with a kiss, and taking Walter’s arm they disappeared round an angle of the building, and walked onward toward their favorite arbor. Every thing was silent around them; the glowing leaves hanging motionless upon the trees, and the many-colored flowers, all seemed listening, as if to some revelation of the night. The fish-pond was one entire sheet of silver; not a ripple disturbed its peaceful surface; and the soft moonlight streamed through the chinks of the vines and gothic trees, and checkered the pathway and the floor of the arbor, as the sunbeams shining through stained cathedral windows rest on the pavement. The arbor was their chancel, and there the two lovers stood side by side as if before an altar; and there Walter told Alice how deeply, how truly he loved her; how often he had sat alone since they had known each other, and yet not been lonely, for her image had always been present to comfort and to counsel him; how he had longed for the time to come when he could make this confession to her, when he could press her to his bosom as the dearly beloved one. Alice did not speak. She was always silent when she felt most deeply; but her silence was singularly eloquent. She did not attempt to withdraw the little hand which he held so tightly. She did not try to remove the arm that encircled her waist. Her head lay upon his bosom, and she wept for very joy. Now what had become of Old John’s brotherly scheme? The rainbow hues were now completely blended. Soon after the two lovers had turned toward the house, Old John came stealing cautiously through a neighboring path, where he had been an accidental, though perhaps not an unwilling listener. “Good!” he exclaimed in a half whisper, rubbing his hands and smiling most merrily. “I shall hate him, I am sure,” he added, mimicking Alice. “Good!” And again he rubbed his hands and smiled with infinite satisfaction. CHAPTER III. The summer had passed away, and autumn was spreading its rich mantle of yellow leaves over the trees and shrubs of the old country-seat. The birds were collecting together in troops, for their journey to warmer lands, and their songs above the arbor were sadder than when we last listened to them. The golden fruit hung temptingly upon the trees, and on the smooth surface of the fish-pond floated many a withered leaf. The year was growing old, and its rich covering of foliage was becoming gray and falling off, yet in the hearts of Walter and Alice love was as green and as warm as on the bright summer evening when they made their mutual confessions.