"Here we meet, too soon to part, Here to part will raise a smart, Here I'd press thee to my heart, Where none are set above thee. Here I'd vow to love thee well; Could but words unseal the spell, Had but language power to tell, I'd tell thee how I've loved thee. Here's the rose that decks the door, Here's the thorn that spreads the moor, Here's the willow of the bower, And the birds that rest above thee. Had they power of life to see, Sense of souls, like thee--and me, Then would each a witness be How dotingly I love thee. Here we meet, too soon to part, Here to part will raise a smart, Here I'd press thee to my heart, None e'er were there but thee." Now, as you perceive, it is a most ridiculous song, foolish as love-songs in general are. But had you been sitting there with us in all the subtle romance imparted by the witching hour of twilight, the soft air floating around, the clear sky above, one large silver star trembling in its blue depths, you would have felt entranced. The wonderful melody of the singer's voice, his distinct enunciation, the tender passion breathing through his soft utterance, and the slight yet unmistakable emphasis given to the avowal of his love, thrilled us all. It was as decided a declaration of what he felt for Jane Preen as he could well make in this world. Once he glanced at her, and only once throughout; it was where I have placed the pause, as he placed it himself, "like thee--and me." As if his glance drew hers by some irresistible fascination, Jane, who had been sitting beneath the rock just opposite to him, her eyes cast down--as he made that pause and glanced at her, I say, she lifted them for a moment, and caught the glance. I may live to be an old man, but I shall never forget Val's song that night, or the charm it held for us. What, then, must it have held for Jane? And it is because that song and its charm lie still fresh on my memory, though many a year has since worn itself out, that I inscribe it here. As the singing came to an end, dying softly away, no one for a moment or two broke the hushed silence that ensued. Valentine was the first to do it. He got up from his seat; went round to a ledge of rock and stood upon it, looking out in the distance. Had the sea been near, one might have thought he saw a ship, homeward bound. II