Our rendezvous was in the parlor, which, from the way in which Ben knocked about the furniture, cushions, and books, assumed an air which somehow subdued Veronica's love for order; she played for him, or they read together, and sometimes talked; he taught her chess, and then they quarreled. One day--a long one to me,--they were so much absorbed in each other, I did not seek them till dusk. "Come and sing to me," called Ben. "So you remember that I do sing?" "Sing; there is a spell in this weird twilight; sing, or I go out on the rocks to break it." He dropped the window curtains and sat by me at the piano, and I sang: "I feel the breath of the summer night, Aromatic fire; The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir With tender desire. "If I were alone, I could not sing, Praises to thee; O night! unveil the beautiful soul That awaiteth me!" "A foolish song," said Veronica, pulling her hair across her face. No reply. She glided to the flower-basket, broke a rosebud from its stalk, and mutely offered it to him. Whether he took it, I know not; but he rose up from beside me, like a dark cloud, and my eyes followed him. "Come Veronica," he whispered, "give me yourself. I love you, Veronica." He sank down before her; she clasped her hands round his head, and kissed his hair. "I know it," she said, in a clear voice. I shut the door softly, thinking of the Wandering Jew, went upstairs, humming a little air between my teeth, and came down again into the dining-room, which was in a blaze of light. "What preserves are these, Temperance?" I asked, going to the table. "Some of Abram's quinces?" "Best you ever tasted, since you were born." "Call Mr. Somers, Fanny," said mother. "Is Verry in the parlor, too?" "I'll call them," I said; "I have left my handkerchief there." "Is anything else of yours there?" said Fanny, close to my ear. Ben had pushed back the curtain, and was staring into the darkness; Veronica was walking to and fro on the rug. "Haven't I a great musical talent?" I inquired. "Am I happy?" she asked, coming toward me. Ben turned to speak, but Veronica put her hand over his mouth, and said: "Why should I be 'hushed,' my darling?" "Come to supper, and be sensible," I urged. The light revealed a new expression in Verry's face--an unsettled, dispossessed look; her brows were knitted, yet she smiled over and over again, while she seemed hardly aware that she was eating like an ordinary mortal. The imp Fanny tried experiments with her, by offering the same dishes repeatedly, till her plate was piled high with food she did not taste. The next day was clear, and mild with spring. Ben and I started for a walk on the shore. We were half-way to the lighthouse before he asked why it was that Veronica would not come with us. "She never walks by the shore; she detests the sea." "Is it so? I did not know that."