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Through opened doors and windows It stole up through the gloom,
And with appealing sweetness Drew Alice from her room.

Yes, he was there; and pausing

Just near the opened door,
To check her heart's quick beating,

She heard—and paused still more— His low voice—Dora's answers—

His pleading—Yes, she knew The tone—the words—the accents:

She once had heard them too.

XI.

"Would Alice blame her?" Leonard's

Low, tender answer came:— "Alice was far too noble

To think or dream of blame." "And was he sure he loved her?"

"Yes, with the one love given Once in a lifetime only,

With one soul and one heaven!"

XII.

Then came a plaintive murmur,—

"Dora had once been told That he and Alice" "Dearest,

Alice is far too cold
To love; and I, my Dora,

If once I fancied so,
It was a brief delusion,

And over,—long ago."

XIII.

Between the Past and Present,

On that bleak moment's height, She stood. As some lost traveller

By a quick flash of light Seeing a gulf before him,

With dizzy, sick despair, Reels backward, but to find it

A deeper chasm there.

XIV.

The twilight grew still darker,
The fragrant flowers more sweet, The stars shone out in heaven,
The lamps gleamed down the street;

And hours passed in dreaming

Over their new-found fate,
Ere they could think of wondering

Why Alice was so late.

xv. She came, and calmly listened;

In vain they strove to trace
If Herbert's memory shadowed

In grief upon her face.
No blame, no wonder showed there,

No feeling could be told;
Her voice was not less steady,

Her manner not more cold.

XVI. They could not hear the anguish

That broke in words of pain Through the calm summer midnight,—

"My Herbert—mine again!" Yes, they have once been parted,

But this day shall restore
The long lost one: she claims him:

"My Herbert—mine once more!"

XVII.

Now Christmas Eve returning,

Saw Alice stand beside The altar, greeting Dora,

Again a smiling bride; And now the gloomy evening

Sees Alice pale and worn, Leaving the house for ever,

To wander out forlorn.

XVIII.

Forlorn—nay, not so. Anguish

Shall do its work at length; Her soul, passed through the fire,

Shall gain still purer strength. Somewhere there waits for Alice

An earnest noble part; And, meanwhile God is with her,

God, and her own true heart!

[graphic]

THE WIND.

HE wind went forth o'er land and sea,
Loud and free;
Foaming waves leapt up to meet it,
Stately pines bowed down to greet it;

While the wailing sea
And the forest's murmured sigh
Joined the cry
Of the wind that swept o'er land and sea.

The wind that blew upon the sea
Fierce and free,
Cast the bark upon the shore,
Whence it sailed the night before

Full of hope and glee;
And the cry of pain and death
Was but a breath,
Through the wind that roared upon the sea.

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