"Dance!" she answered, smiling upon him, "no, I never have danced in my life."
"Oh! if you would dance now. I should like to see how you look when quite happy—my heart used to ache to see you thus, Mary."
Mary shrunk back blushing and frightened, he spoke so earnestly.
"No, no," she stammered, "I don't know how to dance; but I am very, very happy."
The young musician shook his head, and the light of a stray candle rippled through his hair like gold. There was something angelic in his aspect, as he murmured amid the music,
"Oh! but she is heavenly. Never on earth have I heard a voice so full of melody. Sweet spring sounds and the breath of flowers seem floating in it. Oh! she is so good, this dear child."
Then he began to smile again; richer sounds gushed from beneath his fingers; the dancers fell into a circle; the steps grew lighter. The ring of life flashed round beneath the lights, whirling its way amid floods of laughter, like a water-wheel casting off rainbows and foam in the sunshine. The ring gave way; its sunny links broke into pairs; balancing, smiling, and gliding off to the half-hushed music; all glad to rest, but eager to begin again.
That moment the double doors were softly pushed open, and a group of visitors entered the barn, almost unnoticed at first, but that soon cast a restraint upon all this hilarity.
It was a young man, evidently from the city, and a fair girl so beautiful that the whole company paused to look at her.
She was dressed very plainly, in a dark silk travelling-dress, and her air was remarkable only for its simple quietness, though her large eyes turned with a look of eager haste from form to form, as if she were searching for some one.