course, was not invited; no one would have thought of
asking him to join a small party of which Robert Carewe's daughter was
to be a member. But it was happiness enough for Tom, that night, to lie
hidden in the shrubbery, looking up at the stars between the leaves,
while he listened to her harp, and borne through the open window on
enchanted airs, the voice of Elizabeth Carewe singing "Robin Adair."

It was now that the town indulged its liveliest spirit; never an evening
lacked its junketing, while the happy folk of Rouen set the early summer
to music. Serenade, dance, and song for them, the light-hearts, young
and old making gay together! It was all laughter, either in sunshine
or by candlelight, undisturbed by the far thunder below the southern
horizon, where Zachary Taylor had pitched his tent, upon the Rio Grande.

One fair evening, soon after that excursion which had proved fatal to
the hopes of the handsome Tappingham and of the youthful Chenoweth, it
was the privilege of Mr. Thomas Vanrevel to assist Miss Carewe and
her chaperon from their carriage, as they drove up to a dance at the
Bareauds'. This good fortune fell only to great deserving, for he had
spent an hour lurking outside the house in the hope of performing such
offices for them.

Heaven was in his soul and the breath departed out of his body, when,
after a moment of hesitation, Miss Betty's little lace-gauntleted glove
was placed in his hand, and her white slipper shimmered out from the
lilac flounces of her dress to fall like a benediction, he thought, on
each of the carriage-steps.

It was the age of garlands; they wreathed the Muses, the Seasons, and
their speech, so the women wore wreaths in their hair, and Miss
Betty's that night was of marguerites. "Read your fortune in them all,"
whispered Tom's heart, "and of whomsoever you wish to learn, every petal
will say 'He loves you; none declare, He loves you not!'"

She bowed slightly, but did not speak to him, which was perhaps a better
reception than that accorded the young man by her companion. "Oh, it's
you, is it!" was Mrs. Tanberry's courteous observation as she canted the
vehicle in her descent. She looked sharply at Miss Betty, and even
the small glow of the carriage-lamps showed that the girl's cheeks had
flushed very red. Mr. Vanrevel, on the contrary, was pale.

They stood for a moment in awkward silence, while, from the lighted
house where the flying figures circled, came the waltz: "