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.
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