Rosa then resumed her reading.  But dinner time came before it was completed.  At that meal they were all introduced to Captain Henry Marble.

“My only brother,” Mrs. Gibson said, by way of introduction.  “He’s just home from a cruise.  His ship is at New Bedford.  He is going to take the children out late this afternoon for a sail in the harbor.  He always does when he comes here.  Wouldn’t you ladies and Mr. Sawyer like to go with him?”

Captain Marble repeated the invitation, adding that he was an old sailor, that he had a large sailboat, and that they were “only going to Wauwinet, not out to sea, you know, but only up the inner harbor, which is just like a pond, you know.”

Rosa thought it would be delightful, but such a trip had no attractions for Alice, and it was finally decided that Rosa should go, while Alice and Mr. Sawyer would remain at home.

The reading of the remaining chapters of Blennerhassett was completed by three o’clock, and at quarter of four, Miss Very, attired in a natty yachting costume, which formed part of her summer outfit, was ready to accompany Captain Marble and the children on their trip.

When they were alone Quincy turned to Alice and said, “I bought another song yesterday morning, which I thought you might like to hear.”

“Is it another German song?” asked Alice.

“No,” replied Quincy, as he took a roll from the piano and opened it.  “It is a duet; the music is by Bosco, but you can tell nothing by that.  The composer’s real name may be Jones or Smith.”

He seated himself at the piano and played it through, as he had done with that other song two long months before.

“I think it more beautiful than the other,” said Alice.  “Are the words as sweet as those in that other song?”

“Then you have not forgotten the other one,” said Quincy, earnestly.

“How could I forget it?” answered Alice.  “Rosa has sung it to me several times, but it did not sound to me as it did when you sang it.”

“I will sing this one to you,” said he; and Alice came and stood by his side at the piano.

Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked forward so long had come at last.  He could restrain the promptings of his heart no longer.  He loved this woman, and she must know it; even if she rejected that love, he must tell her.

“It is called ‘The Bird of Love,’” he said.  Then he played the prelude to the song.  He sang as he had never sung before; all the power and pathos and love that in him lay were breathed forth in the words and music of that song.

With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked up at Alice.  Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look.

“Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?” There was almost a command in the way he said it.  His love had o’ermastered his politeness.

Alice said nothing, but bowed her head.