“You persist in fixing your attention upon one dark spot.  Do you remember this miniature?  It has never been out of my bosom, and there has never been but one day in which I might not loyally carry it there.  At that time, when I opened it, your eyes looked out at me with a tender reproach, and I was instantly recalled to myself.  It was only the illusion of a moment, through which I had passed.  Whatever may happen, I have one consolation:  this dear image will remind me of the love I once possessed.  I shall fold to my bosom the Alice that once was mine, and strive to forget our estrangement.”

Alice was sensibly touched by this appeal, and much more by the tone in which it was made.  In the momentary pause, Greenleaf raised his eyes and saw the struggle in her face.  He rose, came nearer, and quietly took a seat on the sofa beside her.

“I heard you distinctly where you sat,” she said, making an effort to keep down the tumult within, and shrinking, perhaps, from the influence of his presence.

“I wished to hear you, dear Alice, and therefore came nearer.  Tell me, are you not mistaken?  You have not forgotten me:  you do love me yet.  Let your heart speak; if you imprison it and force the dissembling lips to deny me, the dear traitor will make signals:  it looks out of your eyes now.”

He seized and imprisoned her hand, and still watched the current of feeling in her face.

“I thought myself strong enough for this,” she said, tremblingly, “but I am not.  I meant only to say that we would part——­friends, but that we must part.  It is not so easy to be calm, when you distract me so.”

“Alice, you only deceive yourself; you love me.  You have covered the spring in your heart with snow, but the fountain still flows underneath.”

Her tears could be kept back no longer; they fell not like November rain, but rather like those sudden showers of spring from passing clouds, while the blue sky still looks down, and rainbow smiles transfigure the landscape.

His heart gave a mighty throb as those softly humid eyes were turned upon him.  He drew her, half consenting, still nearer.  She hesitated, but not long.

* * * * *

“Hard a-port!” shouts the master; and the helmsman, with firm hand, holds down the wheel.  Slowly the ship veers; the sails flutter and back, the yards are swung; waves strive to head the bow off, but the rudder is held with iron grasp; now comes the wind, the shaking sails fill with the sudden rush, and the ship bounds on her new course over the heaving waters.

Shall I fill out the comparison?  Not for you, elders, who have seen the struggle of “tacking ship,” and have felt the ecstatic swell of delight when it was accomplished!  Not for the younger, who must learn for themselves the seamanship that is to carry them safely over the mysterious ocean on whose shore they have lingered and gazed and wished!