“Why, Comtesse, don’t you know the beautiful constellation of seven big, bright stars that point to the Polar Star? To men living in the free air of primitive and thinly settled countries, it is their guide in their travels—their compass at night. See, Miss Helène, yonder in the north—that fine group looking like a giant S? That’s the constellation which we Anglo-Saxons in our practical, non-poetic way call ‘The Big Dipper.’ In form it looks like a pot with a crooked handle, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, we call it the ‘Great Bear’—it is the ‘Ursus Major’ of the old Romans! I—I have always loved it. Astronomy is one of my favorite studies, Mr. Morton.”
John mentally patted himself on the back; he certainly had managed it well. He entered with renewed enthusiasm on the subject and allowed her to instruct him in a science the study of which had taken up many nights of his life. Never in his life had John Morton, the learned savant and traveler, enjoyed himself so thoroughly. He was perfectly happy to sit at the feet of his new teacher.
He turned eagerly towards Helène, and though he could but faintly make out the outlines of her hooded figure, he yet saw the eyes that shone intermittently under the protecting shadow. Once more he relapsed into the stage of adoration. He pictured to himself the glorious eyes, the temptingly arched lips, the delicate cheeks. His heart went out towards the lonely, forsaken girl. He longed to take her into his arms—to comfort and caress her. But—what was he thinking of? He pulled himself together with a mighty effort.
Helène, all unconscious of the turmoil in the breast of her companion, leaned towards him and pointed upward.
“You will hardly believe it, Mr. Morton, but I don’t think I ever sat up as late as this, nor do I remember ever having seen the sky so beautiful and so full of stars as it is to-night. It is a most glorious sight.”
“It is, indeed, Miss Helène. Even I, who have lain awake numberless nights, the entire dome and horizon free and unobstructed above me—have never seen it more gorgeous. For me the night skies always have a curious charm—the lure as of a mystery—they fill me with unknown longings. I believe I could easily become a devotee to the worship of the starry heavens.”
Without knowing, perhaps without even realizing it, he had taken hold of the extended hand of the girl, and drew it gently to himself in a light and tender grasp. Helène was utterly unconscious of his action; she was so happy.
“They have a strange power over me,” she whispered rather than spoke the words. “I could sit and look at them and forget everything else.”
Morton’s voice, equally subdued, whispered back: “Is it not your own famous Queen, the poetic and noble ‘Carmen Sylva,’ who says: ‘The night has thousands of eyes watching its children’? There is a lovely lady!”