MUSIC AMONG THE FLOWERS.

Luke hardly knew what his sister was saying, though he looked at her earnestly all the time before he made this mournful answer.

"Oh, Rhoda! shall I never see her again?"

"Do you love her so very much, brother Luke?"

"Love her? Do boys love angels or worship them?"

"Well, I don't know which; but you see, Luke, this is all poetry, and so on. Whoever heard of an angel with a bird's wing on its hat, and high-heeled Butler boots on its feet? It isn't to reason."

"Don't—don't talk in that way, Rhoda. It makes me shiver."

Rhoda got a little out of patience here, and began to set back the chairs with great energy.

"Do you want to see her again so very much, Luke?"

"Do I want to see her? Haven't I said so?"

"When are they going out west?"

"I don't know. She said nothing about the time."

"Oh, indeed! Then what are you fretting about? It may be months from this; you will see her fifty times. She will be at the theatre to-morrow night, I dare say."

Luke brightened out of his despondency and sat upright.

"Do you really think so, Rhoda?"

"Think so? Of course I do. Now go to bed, and——"

"No," said Luke, buttoning his tunic. "I—I will go out a little while."

"What, this time of night?"

"Oh! it isn't so very late. Never mind me."

Luke went into the bedchamber, and came out again carrying his father's violin, which he made a vain effort to hide under his tunic. But Rhoda saw it, and called out,

"Father's Cremona! What are you going to do with that?"

Luke came close to her, and whispered eagerly,

"Rhoda, don't, don't make a noise. I've done it before; and she looked out of the window. It doesn't make her angry."

"Done—done what, Luke?

"Why, played under her window. I have found a way through the garden of the corner house into theirs—a little place full of roses, white jasmines, and borders of heliotrope, with a balcony all overrun with honeysuckles. _Her_ room is just above the balcony. You needn't look so, child, it has never made her angry. Indeed, I think she likes it."

"And you are going there to-night?"

"Yes, now that you have brought me back to life. I forgot that there was no time mentioned. Perhaps she will speak to me, Rhoda."

"Well, perhaps she will. I know that I would. If any boy was to bring even a jews'-harp and play it under my window, and there was a piece of pie or cake in the house, I'd drop it to him, sure."

"Kiss me, Rhoda—I'll be back soon. Just leave the door on the latch."

Luke went down stairs with a light step, carrying the Cremona under his arm; and after a brisk walk, and a hard scramble over some high yard-fences, stood in a little inclosure of flowers, that gave out their delicious odors to the night, and made respiration a pleasure as he passed through them. Climbing softly, he mounted to the balcony, forcing his way through the honeysuckles that rained a shower of fragrant dew on him in return; and directly the faintest and sweetest strains of music that ever thrilled a summer night with harmony, came stealing out from that shelter of flowers.

A young girl lay sleeping sweetly in the room overhead. The moonlight stole in upon her through the volumes of white lace that floated over the window and the bed, silvering them with a delicate transparency, and etherealizing the lovely face that lay beneath; one soft cheek resting on her hand, as Murillo puts his cherubs to sleep among the clouds; dark hair of shadowy brown lay in waves on the pillow. An arm, not yet rounded to its full promise of beauty, lay in relief on the counterpane, looking still and white as marble, with the loose sleeves falling back from it and lying in a wave across the shoulder.

The girl stirred in her sleep, and a smile crept over her mouth—that music was sighing through her young heart even in its slumber. Louder and sweeter the strains swelled up to the chamber, and with them came a soft wind and the curtains stirred gently as clouds float in the heavens. Then the girl began to move amid the whiteness of her couch; both hands were lifted to her face, and fell away again, leaving the eyes wide open and full of pleasant wonder. She rose to her elbow, flung back the lace, and advancing her beautiful head into the moonlight, listened in a trance of delight.

"How sweet! how lovely! Oh! if papa were here to listen! I wonder if it will reach him! I will wake him. It seems wicked to enjoy this all to myself."

Dora started up, put on a loose dress, and with her pretty feet gleaming like marble on the rich colors of the carpet, stole to the door of her father's room.

"Papa, mamma, wake up and listen!" she said, looking into the darkened chamber; "that handsome boy from the theatre is hid away in the honeysuckles again playing like an angel. Listen! listen!"

Back Eudora went to her chamber, and leaning out of the window, gave herself up to the music, happy because she knew that her delight was shared by the two beings she loved best, and with whom, up to this time, she had shared every thought of her soul.

Luke saw the girl from his covert among the honeysuckles, with the moonlight glorifying her young face, and those masses of shadowy hair throwing it out in exquisite relief. A love of the beautiful was strong in the boy's heart as his thirst for music; and with that came the sweet agony of a first love, such as no man ever felt, but which sometimes lifts a child to a level with the angels.

When he saw her leaning above him, a thrill, more subtle and exquisite than his own music, ran through his delicate frame, and gave a tremor to his fingers that made the notes beneath them shiver into a delicious silence.

Eudora leaned forward and listened eagerly—was he gone? Had she aroused her parents too late?

"Luke!"

She had never spoken his name before. How did she know it? Luke! How sweetly the one syllable dropped from her lips; he could see them move in the moonlight like rose-buds cleaving together.

She knew that he was there by the shadows gathering around him in the balcony, and called out again,

"Luke! Luke!"

The boy came out from his shelter and raised his face to look upon her.

"You are not angry with me?"

"Angry? No, no! It was like waking up in heaven. I never heard that air before."

"I have another. It came to me after I had seen you. Please don't move—don't look away."

The violin was lifted lovingly to his shoulder, and once more the music that sprang out of his own genius, clear and perfect as the fall of crystal water-drops on marble, made the flowers around him vibrate and drop their dew into the moonlight lovingly, like a rain of happy tears. Eudora never moved, but bent over the window-sill entranced. She heard her father's window open, and called out,

"Oh, papa! isn't it lovely?"

The boy got frightened, now, and leaped over the balcony, afraid to look upward, and burning with sensitive shame.

But a kind voice called him back.

"Let us have more of your music," it said, "Do not go away just yet."

Luke moved under shelter of the balcony, and again filled the air with sweet sounds; but the zest and glory of his evening was gone. He dared not look up at Eudora's window as he had done before, and a discord now and then broke the harmony that had been so perfect a few minutes before.

Eudora felt no such restraint, but reached out her hand for a tiny bouquet of white jasmines and moss rose-buds, which stood in a champagne-glass on her toilet, and dropped it through the moonlight to the boy's feet. His music stopped instantly; he stooped, seized upon the flowers, and lifting his glowing face one moment to the window, darted toward the fence, and disappeared over it. Once on the other side, he fell upon his knees, pressing the flowers to his lips again and again, as if they had been living things that could give back his caresses. He heard the windows of the house he had left close; and struck all at once by the stillness of the night, went home holding the bouquet to his lips from time to time as he went.

"Is that you, Luke?" inquired Rhoda, arousing herself from the depths of her father's arm-chair, in which she had fallen sound asleep. "How long you have been!"

She was rubbing her little fists into her eyes, and stretching herself like a baby, when he came up and kissed her with a fervor that brought her eyes wide open on the instant.

"What is that? What is it you have got? My, how sweet it smells!"

"Don't! Don't touch it, Rhoda! She gave it to me!"

"She! What, the young lady?"

"Yes; and, Rhoda, I—I almost believe—well, I know that she touched it with her mouth before she dropped it.

"Oh, Luke! how can you?"

"But she did, and her father saw it; so did her mother, for I am sure they were behind the curtains—so there couldn't be harm in it."

"No," said Rhoda, "no harm in the world, but she might have flung down a half-dollar instead. What do we want with bouquets?"

"A half-dollar! Rhoda Weeks, I'm ashamed of you!" cried out the boy, flushed red with angry pain.

"Well," said Rhoda, fluttering around him like a frightened bird, "I'm sure I can't see why money isn't just as good as flowers; especially as it can buy 'em up like fun any day. But you know best, Luke; I don't want to make things disagreeable, only just now money is awful scarce with us. He uses a good deal, you know."

Rhoda gave her thumb a little jerk over her shoulder toward the bed-room, and went on again. "Why, Luke, he'll swallow up a whole bundle of matches at a single drink, and keep doing it over and over again till I'm discouraged; that is why money seems the first thing with me."

Luke listened to her in a bewildered way, and grew restless under her practical cares. Wholesome and honorable though they were, he felt them as a discord after the tender harmonies which were still haunting him.

"Good-night," he said, gently. "It is late, I think."

Rhoda watched him for a moment in silence, and when his door was shut, curled herself up in the great easy-chair, wondering why his eyes were so full of light, and why he had become so beautiful all at once.

"Can a handsome girl, with feathers in her hat, and heels to her boots, do all that, I wonder, with a boy like our Luke? Now, I've worked and worked, and sewed buttons, and sold matches for him ever so long, and he don't seem to care for it all so much as he cares for that sneaky little bunch of flowers. Well, never mind, I'll push the old clothes business on, and get boots and heels for myself. It's them things that do it; and she shan't get my Luke away from me without a tussle. I ought to have been shut up on breadand-water for sending him to the theatre with them little baskets—they did it. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" Here Rhoda let herself out of the chair, and was creeping to bed, feeling very lonely and disconsolate, when a knock at the door called her back.

It was Mr. Hudson, whom she had not seen since his daughter's marriage!

"I saw a light from under your door," he said, "and come up for some matches."

"Then you have come home. Dear, dear! I am so glad! Here are the matches, help yourself, and welcome. How is Miss Constance? When did you see her? Is she with you?"

"She is quite well, thank you, Rhoda," answered the man, in a voice that struck the child as more brisk and resolute than that she had been used to in the old times. "How is Weeks and my friend, Luke? Well, I hope."

"Oh, splendid! Anything else, Mr. Hudson?"

"Nothing, thank you."

Hudson stole down stairs, unlocked his parlor, and went into the darkness there for the first time since his daughter's wedding. After some moments he came out again, and called to Rhoda from the stairs, asking her if she would be kind enough to have the rooms aired and put in order, as he was coming back again for a time, and might bring some one with him.

Rhoda promised everything he desired, and all the next day was busy as a bird in the spring, putting everything to the best advantage in that dismal little parlor.