Through opened doors and windows
It stole up through the gloom,
And with appealing sweetness

Drew Alice from her room.

X.

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 ?"

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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"

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."

"Dearest,

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!

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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