lay open on the piano, and the leaves fluttered softly in a gentle breeze laden with perfumes from the garden.  Near by was swinging the beaded tassel of a book-mark between the pages of a half-opened volume.  He looked at the title and saw that it was Lalla Rookh.  He smiled, as he glanced round the room on the flowery festoons, the graceful tangle of bright arabesques on the walls, the Dancing Girl, and the Sleeping Cupid.  “All is in harmony with Canova, and Moore, and Rossini,” thought he.  “The Lady in Milton’s Comus has been the ideal of my imagination; and now here I am so strangely taken captive by—­”

Rosabella entered at that moment, and almost startled him with the contrast to his ideal.  Her glowing Oriental beauty and stately grace impressed him more than ever.  Floracita’s fairy form and airy motions were scarcely less fascinating.  Their talk was very girlish.  Floracita had just been reading in a French paper about the performance of La Bayadere, and she longed to see the ballet brought out in Paris.  Rosabella thought nothing could be quite so romantic as to float on the canals of Venice by moonlight and listen to the nightingales; and she should so like to cross the Bridge of Sighs!  Then they went into raptures over the gracefulness of Rossini’s music, and the brilliancy of Auber’s.  Very few and very slender thoughts were conveyed in their words, but to the young man’s ear they had the charm of music; for Floracita’s talk went as trippingly as a lively dance, and the sweet modulations of Rosabella’s voice so softened English to Italian sound, that her words seemed floating on a liquid element, like goldfish in the water.  Indeed, her whole nature seemed to partake the fluid character of music.  Beauty born of harmonious sound “had passed into her face,” and her motions reminded one of a water-lily undulating on its native element.

The necessity of returning immediately to Boston was Alfred’s apology for a brief call.  Repressed feeling imparted great earnestness to the message he left for his father’s friend.  While he was uttering it, the conversation he had recently had with Mr. Royal came back to him with painful distinctness.  After parting compliments were exchanged, he turned to say, “Excuse me, young ladies, if, in memory of our fathers’ friendship, I beg of you to command my services, as if I were a brother, should it ever be in my power to serve you.”

Rosabella thanked him with a slight inclination of her graceful head; and Floracita, dimpling a quick little courtesy, said sportively, “If some cruel Blue-Beard should shut us up in his castle, we will send for you.”

“How funny!” exclaimed the volatile child, as the door closed after him.  “He spoke as solemn as a minister; but I suppose that’s the way with Yankees.  I think cher papa likes to preach sometimes.”

Rosabella, happening to glance at the window, saw that Alfred King paused in the street and looked back.  How their emotions would have deepened could they have foreseen the future!