Once, while he was a child, his mother had told him that somewhere in this wide world there lived a maiden whom God had created for him, and for him alone, and when he should see her, he should love her, and his life should thenceforth be all for her. It had hardly occurred to him, then, to question whether she would love him in return, it had appeared so very natural that she should. Now he had found this maiden, and she had been very kind to him; but her kindness had been little better than cruelty, because he had demanded something more than kindness. And still he had never told her of his love. He must tell her even this very night while the moon rode high in the heavens and all the small differences between human beings seemed lost in the vast starlit stillness. He knew well that by the relentless glare of the daylight his own insignificance would be cruelly conspicuous in the presence of her splendor; his scruples would revive, and his courage fade. The night was clear and still. A clock struck eleven in some church tower near by. The Van Kirk mansion rose tall and stately in the moonlight, flinging a dense mass of shadow across the street. Up in the third story he saw two windows lighted; the curtains were drawn, but the blinds were not closed. All the rest of the house was dark. He raised his voice and sang a Swedish serenade which seemed in perfect concord with his own mood. His clear tenor rose through the silence of the night, and a feeble echo flung it back from the mansion opposite: [3] “Star, sweet star, that brightly beamest, Glittering on the skies nocturnal, Hide thine eye no more from me, Hide thine eye no more from me!” The curtain was drawn aside, the window cautiously raised, and the outline of Edith’s beautiful head appeared dark and distinct against the light within. She instantly recognized him. “You must go away, Mr. Birch,” came her voice in an anxious whisper out of the shadow. “Pray go away. You will wake up the people.” Her words were audible enough, but they failed to convey any meaning to his excited mind. Once more his voice floated upward to her opened window: “And I yearn to reach thy dwelling, Yearn to rise from earth’s fierce turmoil; Sweetest star upward to thee, Yearn to rise, bright star to thee.” “Dear Mr. Birch,” she whispered once more in tones of distress. “Pray DO go away. Or perhaps,” she interrupted herself “--wait one moment and I will come down.” Presently the front door was noiselessly opened, and Edith’s tall, lithe form, dressed in a white flowing dress, and with her blonde hair rolling loosely over her shoulders, appeared for an instant, and then again vanished. With one leap Halfdan sprang up the stairs and pushed through the half-opened door. Edith closed the door behind him, then with rapid steps led the way to the back parlor where the moon broke feebly through the bars of the closed shutters.