I went back to the parlour. The music sheets were fumbled once again. Then I tried to read, but found it impossible to settle down. I turned once more to the piano and presently found myself softly singing a little love-verse, familiar since my childhood. I crooned it once or twice:
Still must you call me tender names
Still gently stroke my tresses;
Still shall my happy answering heart
Keep time to your caresses.
The words made me lonely—like a phantom song. I involuntarily smiled a little as I caught myself sighing while the piano notes died away; perhaps it was the gathering twilight that gave me such a plaintive feeling in the region of my heart.
Suddenly a voice came from above. It was Aunt Agnes this time.
"Hear that, Helen?" she sang out. "There's music in that screech, isn't there?"
"What screech?" I answered back, a little suspicious that she referred to my simple warblings. Yet I knew she could scarcely have heard.
"The locomotive," she promptly replied. "Didn't you hear that engine whistle?—that's his train, you know. I reckon you were listening for it all right."
I rose and moved to the window, grimly wondering if ever lover had so many assistants in the business. I could see the white puffs of smoke as the train steamed slowly into the distant station. The dreamy ringing of the bell floated in through the open window, mingling with the pensive sounds of evening.
And I was lonely, so lonely! I knew that Charlie had just alighted from the train, doubtless hurrying even now to his hotel. He would soon shake its dust from off his feet, I knew, and old "Rastus"—Rastus knew Charlie's orbit and kept a keen lookout for him—would bring him with fitting haste to me. My cheek reddened, then paled, as I seemed to see Charlie's eager face, his impatient arms, his ardent lips. I quivered a little, and tore two or three of the petals from a rose I had chosen from a bowlful on the table; the harmless things floated to the pavement beneath the window.
Suddenly a bird's rich full note fluttered in and fell upon my ear. I listened. And his mate responded—full and sweet and tremulous the answer came. The love-throb pulsed vibrant through it. I thought it beautiful; and I listened, enchanted, as the tender message came again and again. Soon the note grew fainter—and I think I caught a glimpse of the winged lovers as they glided close together into their bridal chamber in the deep shade of the magnolia tree. The rich blossoms hung like curtains, quivering a little where the mated pair had passed within—that fragrant retreat was holy.