and the flashing of the water-drops falling back like
diamonds into the wave. Happiness lay beside him steering the boat, a
seraph worked the oars, the land ahead must be paradise. His was a
lover's story, clear, yet broken with phrases of love; for was he not
speaking to the heart, half his own, that beat with his in unison? The
tears flowed down the deacon's cheek, tears of dread and of sympathy.
What if Honora refused this gift laid so reverently at her feet? He
spoke his dread.

"One must take the chance," said the lover calmly. "She is free too. I
would not have her bound. The very air up here will conspire with me to
win her. She must learn at once that I want her for my wife. Then let
the leaven work."

The boat came back to the landing. The ladies sat on the veranda
chatting quietly, watching the moon which rose higher and higher, and
threw Valcour into shadow so deep, that it looked like a great serpent
asleep on a crystal rock, nailed by a golden spike through its head to
the crystal rock beneath. The lighthouse lamp burning steadily at the
south point, and its long reflection in the still waters, was the golden
nail. A puffing tug passed by with its procession of lumber boats,
fanciful with colored lights, resounding with the roaring songs of the
boatmen; and the waves recorded their protest against it in long groans
on the shore. Arthur drank in the scene without misgiving, bathed in
love as in moonlight. This moon would see the consummation of his joy.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

LOVE IS BLIND.

Next morning after breakfast the house began to echo with the singing of
the inmates. Mona sang to the baby in an upper room, the Deacon thrummed
the piano and hummed to himself in the raucous voice peculiar to most
churchmen. Judy in the kitchen meditatively crooned to her maids an
ancient lamentation, and out on the lawn, Arthur sang to his mother an
amorous ditty in compliment to her youthful appearance. Honora, the
song-bird, silent, heard with amusement this sudden lifting up of
voices, each unconscious of the other. Arthur's bawling dominated.

"Has the house gone mad?" she inquired from the hallway stairs, so
clearly that the singers paused to hear. "What is the meaning of all
this uproar of song. Judy in the kitchen, Mona in the nursery, Louis in
the parlor, Arthur on the lawn?"

The criminals began to laugh at the coincidence.

"I always sing to baby," Mona screamed in justification.

"I wasn't si