“Now is just the time,” persisted she.  “Bowers never look so pretty as by moonlight.  I don’t think you are very gallant to your bride to refuse her such a little favor.”

Thus urged, he yielded, though reluctantly, to her whim.  As she entered the bower, and turned to speak to him, the moonlight fell full upon her figure.  “What a pretty little witch you are!” he exclaimed.  “My Lily Bell, my precious pearl, my sylph!  You look like a spirit just floated down from the moon.”

“All moonshine!” replied she, with a smile.

He kissed the saucy lips, and the vines which had witnessed other caresses in that same bower, a few months earlier, whispered to each other, but told no tales.  She leaned her head upon his bosom, and looking out upon the winding walks of the garden, so fair and peaceful in sheen and shadow, she said that her new home was more beautiful than she had dreamed.  “Hark!” said she, raising her head suddenly, and listening.  “I thought I heard a sigh.”

“It was only the wind among the vines,” he replied.  “Wandering about in the moonlight has made you nervous.”

“I believe I was a little afraid before you came,” said she.  “That eye looking at me through the lattice gave me a start; and while I was running after your shadow, I heard that voice again singing, ’Toll the bell.’  I wonder how you can be so indifferent about such a remarkable voice, when you are such a lover of music.”

“I presume, as I told you before, that it was one of the darkies,” rejoined he.  “I will inquire about it to-morrow.”

“I should sooner believe it to be the voice of an angel from heaven, than a darky,” responded the bride.  “I wish I could hear it again before I sleep.”

In immediate response to her wish, the full rich voice she had invoked began to sing an air from “Norma,” beginning, “O, how his art deceived thee!”

Fitzgerald started so suddenly, he overturned a seat near them.  “Hush!” she whispered, clinging to his arm.  Thus they stood in silence, she listening with rapt attention, he embarrassed and angry almost beyond endurance.  The enchanting sounds were obviously receding.

“Let us follow her, and settle the question who she is,” said Lily, trying to pull him forward.  But he held her back strongly.

“No more running about to-night,” he answered almost sternly.  Then, immediately checking himself, he added, in a gentler tone:  “It is imprudent in you to be out so long in the evening air; and I am really very tired, dear Lily.  To-morrow I will try to ascertain which of the servants has been following you round in this strange way.”

“Do you suppose any servant could sing that?” she exclaimed.

“They are nearly all musical, and wonderfully imitative,” answered he.  “They can catch almost anything they hear.”  He spoke in a nonchalant tone, but she felt his arm tremble as she leaned upon it.  He had never before made such an effort to repress rage.