ice was not there. Yet somewhere within those
prison-walls her young beauty was dressing itself to meet the spring.
Perhaps, in delicious linen, soft and white, she was dashing cool water
about her rosebud face, or, flushed with exhilaration, was pinning up
the golden fleeces of her hair. Perhaps she was eating wonderful bacon
and eggs! Could she be thinking of him? She little knew how near he was
to her. He had not written of his coming. Letters at Miss Curlpaper's
had to pass an inspection much more rigorous than the Customs, but still
smuggling was not unknown. For success, however, carefully laid plans
and regular dates were necessary, and Narcissus' visit had fallen
between the dates.

No! there was no sign of her. She was as invisible as the moon at
mid-day. And there were the church-bells beginning to call her: 'Alice,
Alice, put on your things!'

'Alice, Alice, put on your things!
The birds are calling, the church bell rings;
The sun is shining, and I am here,
Waiting--and waiting--for you, my dear.

Alice, Alice, doff your gown of night,
Draw on your bodice as lilies white,
Draw on your petticoats, clasp your stays,--
Oh! Alice, Alice, those milky ways!

Alice, Alice, how long you are!
The hour is late and the church is far;
Slowly, more slowly, the church bell rings--
Alice, Alice, put on your things!'

Really it was not in Narcissus' plans to wait at the school till Alice
appeared. The Misses Curlpaper were terrible unknown quantities to him.
For a girl to have a boy hanging about the premises was a capital crime,
he knew. Boys are to girls' schools what Anarchists are to public
buildings. They come under the Explosives Acts. It was not, indeed,
within the range of his hope that he might be able to speak to Alice. A
look, a long, immortal, all-expressive look, was all he had travelled
fifteen miles to give and win. For that he would have travelled fifteen
hundred.

His idea was to sit right in front of the nave, where Alice could not
miss seeing him--where others could see him too in his pretty
close-fitting suit of Lincoln green. So down through the lanes he went,
among the pear and apple orchards, from out whose blossom the clanging
tower of the old church jutted sheer, like some Bass Rock amid rosy
clustering billows. Their love had been closely associated from its
beginning with the sacred things of the church, so regular had been
their attendance, not only on Sundays, b