said
good-night, and were answered by fervent and deeper tones below.

The quiet proper to the hour drew on, the lighted windows darkened one
by one, and presently there appeared at the office the master of the
house, accompanied by two or three young men. These greeted Cary
soberly, but with much kindness. "We've put," said the host, "all the
talkative rattlepates away in the house, and given you three sensible
men! Mr. Bland has the room at the other end, Jack Minor and Nelson the
one next to him, and in the little room beside yours, Fair, we'll stow
Mr. Pincornet. They've all danced themselves tired, and the whole place
is to have a quiet night." The three sensible men went, after a little,
to their several quarters, and the kinsman continued: "The class ends
to-night, Fair. To-morrow morning all go away except the Blands and the
Morrises and George Harvie's little Dorothea. The house will be quiet,
and you are not to ride away from us in the morning! Good-night--God
bless you!"

Cary, left alone, watched the lights go out in the rooms of Mr. Bland,
Mr. Minor, and Mr. Nelson. He thought, "I will go to bed and go to
sleep"; then, so bright was the moonlight, so sweet and fragrant and now
silent the night, that he stayed on upon the little porch, his arms
against the railing, his eyes now on the moon, now on the quiet great
house and the shadowy clumps of trees. Presently Mr. Pincornet, the moon
whitening his old brocade and his curled wig, came from the house,
crossed the grass, and mounted to the porch upon which his small room
opened.

He started as he saw the figure by the railing. "Who is it?" he
demanded, in his high, cracked voice; then, "Ah, I see, I see! A
thousand pardons, Mr. Cary,--"

"We are to be neighbours to-night," said Cary. "It has been long since
we met, Mr. Pincornet. I am glad to see you again."

"I have been in Richmond," said the dancing master, "since--since
September."

Cary touched a chair near him with a gesture of invitation. "Won't you
sit down? It is too beautiful a night to go early to bed, and I do not
think we will disturb the others' slumbers. But perhaps you are tired--"

"The practice of my art does not tire me," answered Mr. Pincornet. "I
will watch the moon with you for as long as you please. We had nights
such as this near Aire, when I was young"

He sat down, leaning his chin upon his beruffled hand. The light falling
full on his companion showed the dark dress and ab