Edith’s bower was the usual scene of these domestic concerts; and there the long, sweet summer evenings glided away in happiness, that the ’queen of that bower ’—­as Henrich had named her—­had never known since the last evening that she spent there with her brother.  She began to wonder why she had hitherto associated none but melancholy ideas with the lovely spot; and to find that it was possible to feel even gay and light-hearted while surrounded by Henrich’s flowers, and looking on Fingal’s grave.  How strange it seemed—­and yet, how pleasant!  A new existence seemed opening before Edith’s soul; and life no longer appeared a dreary pilgrimage, which duty alone could render interesting.  The powers of her mind also received a fresh impulse from the society of the cultivated Englishman, and was drawn out in a manner as agreeable as it was new.  Roger had brought from his native land a collection of books, which, though small in number, seemed to Edith a perfect library; and all were offered for her perusal.  Several of them were, of course, on controversial and doctrinal subjects; and these she was able to understand and to appreciate:  but among these graver and more abstruse treatises, were some of a more attractive nature—­some volumes of foreign travel, and ancient legends, and heart-stirring poetry, in which the soul of Edith reveled, as in a garden of new and fragrant flowers.

It was a fresh, and a very rich enjoyment to one who had known so few literary pleasures, to pore over these volumes, and find her own vivid thoughts and wild imaginings set before her in all the captivating colors of poetry and fiction; or to follow the wanderings of travelers through the civilized and enlightened countries of the old continent, and learn from books those manners and customs of refined life, which, in all human probability, it would never be her lot to witness.  But this enjoyment was more than doubled when Roger took the book, and—­as he often did—­read to her and her mother while they sat at their work in Edith’s bower in the heat of the day; and if the younger listener did occasionally pause in her occupation, and forget to ply her needle while she looked up at the fine expressive countenance of the reader, she may be pardoned; for the voice and the expression were in such perfect unison, that the one added greatly to the effect of the other.

Perhaps these days of peaceful intercourse, and growing, but unacknowledged, affection, were among the happiest of Edith’s checkered life:  certain it is that, in after days of trial and difficulty, she looked back upon them as on some green and sunny spot in the varied field of memory.

But they could not last for ever.  Days and weeks passed by, and Edith was too happy in the present to occupy herself much about the future.  But her parents thought of it for her; and Roger thought of it for her, and for himself.  Her graceful manners and appearance had attracted him on his first acquaintance with her, and the favorable impression had been strengthened from day to day, as he acquired a more intimate knowledge of her thoughtful character and amiable temper:  and it was not long ere he felt that his future happiness in life depended on her returning those sentiments with which she had inspired him.