d wait. Quickly enough she
replaced the cup and returned to her watch; he might have come while she
had the cup to her lips; but, ah, no, no one had trodden on the white
acacia blossoms--they were uncrushed.

Perhaps the long watching had wearied her, or the warm glow of the June
afternoon fatigued her, or the strong odor of the flowers reached her
brain. She looked at her watch; it was after five. He would come, most
certainly; she knew that; but she was tired, and a great tearless sob
rose to her lips. The heat of the June sun was growing less; she leaned
her head against the casement of the window, and the white eyelids fell
over the dark, passionate, tender eyes. She was dreaming, then; she
heard the ripple of running water that sung as it ran, and the words
were:

"A ring in pledge I gave her,
And vows of love we spoke--
Those vows were all forgotten,
The ring asunder broke."

Over and over again the sweet, sad words were repeated. She was standing
on the brink of the mill-stream again, her lover's kisses warm on her
lips, her lover's hands clasping hers. Ah, Heaven, that the dream could
have lasted or she never woke! A bird woke her by perching on her hand;
perhaps he thought it was a lily, and she started in affright. The bells
were ringing six; she had lost one whole hour, yet Heaven had sent that
sleep in mercy; one hour of forgetfulness strengthened her for what she
had to suffer. She woke with a start; for one moment her brain was
confused between the dream and the reality. Was it the ripple of the
mill-stream, or was it the sighing of the wind among the roses? She had
slept for an hour. Had he come? Had she slept while he entered the
garden? Was he hiding in jest?

She rang the bell quickly as the trembling hands would allow: and when
the pretty, coquettish maid answered it she asked had any one come, had
any one called; and the answer was, "No." Still she could not rest; she
looked through the rooms, through the garden; ah, no, there were no
traces of any arrival--none.

Once more to her watch at the window; but the scene began to change.
There was no longer the golden glow over land and water, no longer the
golden glare of a summer's day, no longer the sweet summer's noise, and
the loud, jubilant songs of the birds. A gray tint was stealing over
earth and sky; the lilies were closing their white cups; the birds
singing their vesper hymn; longer shadows fell on the grass; cooler