The party was like all parties,--dull at first, and brighter as it grew late. The old ladies played whist in one room, and the younger part of the company were in another. Champagne was not a prevalent drink in our village, but it happened that we had some that night. "It may be a sinful beverage," said an old lady near me, "but it is good." Redmond opened a bottle for me, we clinked glasses, and drank to an indefinite, silent wish. "One more," he asked, "and let us change glasses." Presently a cloud of delicate warmth spread over my brain, and gave me courage to seek and meet his glance. There must have been an expression of irresolution in my face, for he looked at me inquiringly, and then his own face grew very sad. I felt awkward from my intuition of his opinion of my mood, when he relieved me by saying something about Shelley,--a copy of whose poems lay on a table near. From Shelley he went to his boat, and said he hoped to have some pleasant excursions with Laura and myself. He "would go at once and talk with Laura's mother about them." I watched him through the door, while he spoke to her. She was in a low chair, and he leaned his face on one hand close to hers. I saw that his natural expression was one of tranquillity and courage. He was not more than twenty-two, but the firmness of the lines about his mouth belied his youth. "He has a wonderful face," I thought, "and just as wonderful a will." I felt my own will rise as I looked at him,--a will that should make me mistress of myself, powerful enough to contend with, and resist, or turn to advantage any controlling fate which might come near me. "Do you feel like singing?" Harry Lothrop inquired. "Do you know Byron's song, 'One struggle more and I am free'?" "Oh, yes!" I replied,--"it is set to music which suits my voice. I will sing it." Laura had been playing polkas with great spirit. Since the Champagne, the old ladies had closed their games of whist for talking, and, as it was nearly time to go, the company was gay. There was laughing and talking when I began, but silence soon after, for the wine made my voice husky and effective. I sang as if deeply moved. "Lord!" I heard Maurice say to Laura, as I rose from the piano, "what a girl! she's really tragic." I caught Harry Lothrop's eye, as I passed through the door to go up-stairs; it was burning; I felt as if a hot coal had dropped on me. Maurice ran into the hall and sprang upon the stair-railing to ask me if he might be my escort home. That night he serenaded me. He was a good-hearted, cheerful creature; conceited, as small men are apt to be,--conceit answering for size with them,--but pleasantly so, and I learned to like him as much as Redmond did.