tterance of the words increased the firmness of his decision,
and at the same time cheered him. His apprehensions fell away, and a
glamorous excitement took their place, as he turned a corner and the
music burst more loudly upon his tingling ear. For there, not half-way
to the next street, the fairy scene lay spread before him.

Spellbound groups of uninvited persons, most of them colored, rested
their forearms upon the upper rail of the Parchers' picket fence,
offering to William's view a silhouette like that of a crowd at a fire.
Beyond the fence, bright forms went skimming, shimmering, wavering over
a white platform, while high overhead the young moon sprayed a thinner
light down through the maple leaves, to where processions of rosy globes
hung floating in the blue night. The mild breeze trembled to the silver
patterings of a harp, to the sweet, barbaric chirping of plucked strings
of violin and 'cello--and swooned among the maple leaves to the rhythmic
crooning of a flute. And, all the while, from the platform came the
sounds of little cries in girlish voices, and the cadenced shuffling
of young feet, where the witching dancemusic had its way, as ever and
forever, with big and little slippers.

The heart of William had behaved tumultuously the summer long, whenever
his eyes beheld those pickets of the Parchers' fence, but now it outdid
all its previous riotings. He was forced to open his mouth and gasp
for breath, so deep was his draught of that young wine, romance.
Yonder--somewhere in the breath-taking radiance--danced his Queen with
all her Court about her. Queen and Court, thought William, and nothing
less exorbitant could have expressed his feeling. For seventeen needs
only some paper lanterns, a fiddle, and a pretty girl--and Versailles is
all there!

The moment was so rich that William crossed the street with a slower
step. His mood changed: an exaltation had come upon him, though he was
never for an instant unaware of the tragedy beneath all this worldly
show and glamor. It was the last night of the divine visit; to-morrow
the town would lie desolate, a hollow shell in the dust, without her.
Miss Pratt would be gone--gone utterly--gone away on the TRAIN! But
to-night was just beginning, and to-night he would dance with her; he
would dance and dance with her--he would dance and dance like mad! He
and she, poetic and fated pair, would dance on and on! They would be
intoxicated by the lights--the lights, the