girl," returned Dunham, with an involuntary glance toward
Sylvia's starlit face.

The hostess went indoors, and Sylvia started after her. "Do you mind if
I sit near the piano, Edna?" she asked.

"And miss the moonrise? I certainly should not allow it. Stay right
where you were."

"Of course, stay right where you were," said John quietly, "or rather
sit here." He placed a cushion for Sylvia on the top step, and as she
accepted the position he placed himself at her feet.

Miss Martha sank into a rocking-chair, and Judge Trent moved down upon
the grass, where he walked back and forth, a shadowy figure in the
evening hush, for the wind goes down with the sun at Hawk Island.

"Ask her to sing the 'Sea Pictures,'" suggested Sylvia to her
companion.

John called his request, and Edna complied. She had scarcely commenced
the first song when a halo of light appeared on the horizon,
foretelling the edge of the orange-colored disc which soon began its
splendid ascent from the silhouetted waves. The air was full of the
scent of sweet peas, that clung in lavish abundance to the base of the
cottage. The vista of firs framed the rising moon, which gradually
flecked the water with dancing gold. Edna's voice flooded the air with
strange melody.

Sylvia's responsive sense yielded to the witchery of the hour. Petty
thoughts were swept away. John's eyes were constantly drawn back to her
rapt face as the light grew clearer.

"The little stars are going out, do you see?" she murmured, and he
nodded.

Soon Edna began the accompaniment of "In Haven," the one which Sylvia
called the island song. The first notes brought a new light to her
face, and she smiled into Dunham's upturned eyes.

"This is mine," she said. The words of the song came clearly to them,
as the moon-path broadened and lengthened between the spires of the
firs.

"Closely let me hold thy hand,
Storms are sweeping sea and land,
Love alone will stand.

"Closely cling, for waves beat fast,
Foam flakes cloud the hurrying blast,
Love alone will last.

"Kiss my lips and softly say,
'Joy, sea-swept, may fade to-day;
Love alone will stay.'"

Sylvia leaned her head against the vine-wreathed stone, and her eyes
closed against the glory of a world that seemed hushing itself to
listen,--closed against John Dunham, whose personality had so strangely
permeated the song on the day she first heard it. What a different day
from this, a