"I shall remember Belem in good time; no fear of my forgetting that
ace—ancient spot. At least I may wait till your father goes to
Boston, and we can make a party. You will be ready, Cassandra? I wrote
Adelaide yesterday that you were coming, and mother will expect you."
It often stormed during his visit. We had driving rains, and a gale from the southeast, oceanward, which made our sea dark and miry, even after the storm had ceased and patches of blue sky were visible.
Our rendezvous was in the parlor, which, from the way in which Ben knocked about the furniture, cushions, and books, assumed an air which somehow subdued Veronica's love for order; she played for him, or they read together, and sometimes talked; he taught her chess, and then they quarreled. One day—a long one to me,—they were so much absorbed in each other, I did not seek them till dusk.
"Come and sing to me," called Ben.
"So you remember that I do sing?"
"Sing; there is a spell in this weird twilight; sing, or I go out on the rocks to break it."
He dropped the window curtains and sat by me at the piano, and I sang:
"I feel the breath of the summer night,
Aromatic fire;
The trees, the vines, the flowers are astir
With tender desire.
"If I were alone, I could not sing,
Praises to thee;
O night! unveil the beautiful soul
That awaiteth me!"
"A foolish song," said Veronica, pulling her hair across her face. No reply. She glided to the flower-basket, broke a rosebud from its stalk, and mutely offered it to him. Whether he took it, I know not; but he rose up from beside me, like a dark cloud, and my eyes followed him.