The sound of a voice, sweet and mirthful; and another, low, melodious, and charming in its enunciation, came up from below, breaking in on their conversation.
Phil looked over the window-sill, then, smilingly he beckoned to Eileen.
They both leaned over.
Down there, on a summer-seat, in the arbour of trailing vines at the end of the veranda, close together and evidently day-dreaming, were Margery and Jim.
Phil was about to shout to them, but Eileen put her finger on his lips.
Then once more came the musical, alluring, deep-toned, yet crooning voice of Jim Langford;––great-hearted, apparently wayward and devil-may-care, but at all times really serious––as he recited to the lady by his side, in his own inimitable way:––
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“And the night shall be filled with music And the cares that infest the day Shall fold their tents like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.” |
THE END
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