The work of life may so fill up the day
    That not a thought of me shall venture there;
  And after labor Love may charm away
    What could not enter for the press of care.

  But when thou’st bidden all this world good-night,
    And enterest that which lies so close to mine,
  Call me by name—­it is my angel’s right—­
    And I shall hear thee, though I give no sign.

  When morn undoes the high, white gates of sleep,
    Pause, as thou comest forth, to speak to me: 
  It may seem vain, for silence will be deep,
    But uttered wishes wait on prophecy.

  And when some day far distant thou dost feel
    That night and morrow will no longer come,
  The pitying heart will let me then reveal
    My presence to thee on the passage home.

CHARLOTTE F. BATES.

THE MATCHLESS ONE: 

A TALE OF AMERICAN SOCIETY, IN FOUR CHAPTERS.

CHAPTER III.

I was nearly asleep, though my thoughts were entertaining enough, when again footsteps entered the arbor below.  This time the intruder did not pause.  A woman’s voice humming an air seemed to approach, and in a moment more a swift hand parted the bushes behind me, and Blanche Furnaval appeared.  I was very much surprised, but stood up to make way for her, at the same time throwing aside my cigar.

“I beg your pardon,” she exclaimed immediately, clearly as much astonished as I:  “I did not know any one had found this pretty spot but myself.”

“I think I know how to look for pretty things,” I replied, gazing at her face, which was glowing from quick walking, though her breath came evenly through her parted lips.

“Do you never tire of making those silly speeches?” she asked, lifting her gray eyes candidly to my face.  “Excuse me, you need not answer:  I am very brusque.  You see I did not expect to find any one here, and consequently left my company manners at home.  I am sorry to have disturbed you,” she continued, turning to go.

“Let us compare notes, Miss Blanche, and see to whom the rock belongs by right of discovery.  Won’t you be seated?” I said, making a place for her.

“I came to see the sunset,” she replied after a moment’s hesitation, “and if it won’t incommode you I will stay.  Should you not care to talk, please read on:  I shall not mind.  And won’t you light another cigar?  I have no objection to cigars in the open air, though I think them disgusting in the house.”

“Thank you,” I said as she sat down and I took another Havana for the one I had thrown away at her arrival.  “Will you relate to me the manner of your discovery?  I would rather not read.”