She smiled when she looked at me again.  I stared at her with a singular feeling.  Had I touched her, or had I made a fool of myself?

“There is some nice gingerbread in the closet.  Sha’n’t I get you a piece?”

I fell out of my dream.

“Major Millard is an old beau.  Come down and captivate him.  He likes fair women.”

Declining the gingerbread, I accepted the Major.  He was an old gentleman, in a good deal of highly starched linen, amusing himself by teazing Ann, who liked it, and paid him in impertinence.  Adelaide played chess with him.  Desmond sauntered in about nine, threw himself into a chair behind the sofa where I sat, and swung his arm over the back.  The chessboard was put aside, and a gossipy conversation was started, which included Mrs. Somers, who was on a sofa across the room, but he did not join in it.  I watched Mrs. Somers, as her fingers moved with her Berlin knitting, feeling more composed and settled as to my identity, in spite of my late outburst, than I had felt at any moment since my arrival in Belem.  They were laughing at a funny description, which Ann was giving of a meeting she had witnessed between Miss Hiticutt and Mr. Pearsall, a gentleman lately arrived from China, after a twenty years’ residence, with several lacs of rupees.  Her delineation of Miss Hiticutt, who attempted to appear as she had twenty years before, was excellent.  Ben, who was rolling and unrolling his mother’s yarn, laughed till the tears ran, but Major Millard looked uneasy, as if he expected to be served a-la-Hiticutt by the satirical Ann after his departure.  Before the laughter subsided, I heard a low voice at my ear, and felt a slight touch from the tip of a finger on my cheek.

“How came those scars?”

I brushed my cheek with my handkerchief, and answered, “I got them in battle.”

He left his chair, and walked slowly through the room into the dark front parlor.  Major Millard took leave, and was followed by Mrs. Somers and Ann, neither of whom returned.  As Ben stretched himself on his sofa with an air of relief, Desmond emerged from the dark and stood behind him, leaning against a column, with his hands in his coat pockets and his eyes searchingly fixed upon me.  Ben, turning his head in my direction, sprang up so suddenly that I started; but Desmond’s eyes did not move till Ben confronted him; then he gave him a haughty smile, and begged him to take his repose again.

I went to the piano and ran my fingers over the keys.

“Do you play?  Can you sing?” asked Adelaide, rousing herself.

“Yes.”

“Do sing.  I never talk music; but I like it.”

“Some old song,” said Ben.

Singing

  “Drink to me only with thine eyes,
    And I will pledge with mine,”

I became conscious that Desmond was near me.  With a perfectly pure voice he joined in the song: 

  “The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
    Doth ask a drink divine.”