rtled her.

She stretched her arms out to the night, embracing its glories,
sighing in sympathy with its meaning, which she did not know. She
felt the desire of restlessness; yet she could not bear to go. But
no thought of the stranger touched her, for you see as yet she did
not understand.

Then, quite naturally, she heard his voice in the darkness close to
her knee. It seemed inevitable that he should be there; part of
the restless, glorious night, part of her mood. She gave no start
of surprise, but half closed her eyes and leaned her fair head
against a pillar of the veranda. He sang in a sweet undertone an
old chanson of voyage.

"Par derrier ches man pere,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
Par derrier' chez mon pere
Li-ya-t-un, pommier doux."

"Ah lady, lady mine," broke in the voice softly, "the night too is
sweet, soft as thine eyes. Will you not greet me?"

The girl made no sign. After a moment the song went on,

"Trois filles d'un prince,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
Trois filles d'un prince
Sont endormies dessous."

"Will not the princess leave her sisters of dreams?" whispered the
voice, fantastically, "Will she not come?"

Virginia shivered, and half-opened her eyes, but did not stir. It
seemed that the darkness sighed, then became musical again.

"La plus jeun' se reveille,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
La plus jeun' se reveille
--Ma Soeur, voila le jour!

The song broke this time without a word of pleading. The girl
opened her eyes wide and stared breathlessly straight before her at
the singer.

"--Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile,
Vole, mon coeur, vole!
Non, ce n'est qu'une etoile
Qu' eclaire nos amours!"

The last word rolled out through its passionate throat tones and
died into silence.

"Come!" repeated the man again, this time almost in the accents of
command.

She turned slowly and went to him, her eyes childlike and
frightened, her lips wide, her face pale. When she stood face to
face with him she swayed and almost fell.

"What do you want with me?" she faltered, with a little sob.

The man looked at her keenly, laughed, and exclaimed in an
every-day, matter-of-fact voice:

"Why, I really believe my song frightened you. It is only a
boating song. Come, let us go and sit on the gun-carriages and
talk."

"Oh!" she gasped, a trifle hysterically. "Don't do that again!
Please don't. I do not understand it! You must not!"

He laughed again, but with a