Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury [Connecticut]) 1903-1917, 1903-11-07

chA uPOA tAC 6lTGuSbu Oh Ii l. cut 1uS
distance from the shore in half. Yet
the song neither ceased nor grew
louder.
My boat must have been visible. 1t
might look white or black in the night,
for that question is not determined by
the normal color of the paint. If the
freight reached it, the skiff would
show white and declare itself more
plainly for what 1t was. I decided to
be frank about it and not try to pass
for the trunk of q tree. In matters Of
romance I believe thoroughly In hon.
esty-if it wins. So I cut off another
rod or two Of distance.
The fire was now quite distinct. 1t
seemed to be on fat rock not much
above the water level, and behind It
was a curving wall, a little cliff ten
feet high, but of this only the top was
visible, for it was of course impossible
for me to see anything that was d.
rectly behind the light. .-a.. .4
AS for the singer, she was utterly in
visible. There was something mystical
In this music, which seemed to proceed
out Of the red fire that, with the IA
miliar habit Of inanimate moving OBJ
jects, assumed to the eye the rhythm of
the song. I was so deeply fascinated
by all this that L forgot my seaman
ship and let my oar strike the boats
rail with a sharp sound >r s.'
Instantly the music ceased. and L was
tortured by a perfect silence. This
was an emergency, and knewsit. The
ginger might be at that moment escap-
iTlo INV
rocks. For moment l was near to
the deadly banality Of addressing her,
apologizing, introducing myself, com
hitting know not what absurdity.
Then it occurred to my mind that
since there undoubtedly was way of
escape for her it might possibly be
permissible for me to sing. There have
been serenades in all ages, and ,un-
doubtediy at one time or another wo-
men have listened to worse voices than
mine with very kind acceptance Of the
offering for the sake of the spirit in
which it has been made. So sang the
first thing that came into my head, and
it happened to be ballad called 1.-THE
Evening Star" quite trivial in every
way, that used to sing to Sibyl long
ago.
1t is we'll known that in moments of
excitement one speaks above his usual
pitch, and this law of nature worked to
defeat me in the present instance The
man who wrote 1.-The Evening STAR
would never have dared to publish it
in the key that I hit, for he would have
found few that could sing it, I think
special dispensation must have been
granted me, for I got through the first i,
stanza like a nightingale, but I per-
spired freely with terror Then /
waited, and by my sensations of dura-
ton it should have been o'clock in
the next afternoon when heard
blessed sound from the shore. It was
the guitar, and presently the lady sang
again. She had chosen Hearts De-
light" a quaint little melody, and
Sibyl's favorite Of ali, as remembered.
l have strong faith in the power and
the will of chance to deceive a man,
but to take this for coincidence was an
impossibility.
1t could be only Sibyl that sang to
me, and / must have been less suscepti-
BILE to emotion than was the wood of
the boat that bore me if 1 had not /
thought tenderly of the little girl who
had wept in the dark at Hearts De-
light in the old days.
In the voice itself there was nothing
whatever that reminded me of Sibyl.
1t was not girlish, and OF course
could not fully realize the difference
that the years had made. She was
still child to me, and the voice was
womanly, would have said the singer
had been taught not only by thoroughly
competent masters, but by her own
emotions; we'll taught by both, and in
the school Of the heart one gets no
degree at 19-it is indeed an early age
to be admitted.
l made no analysis at that time; I
merely thought that 1t was strange.
Therein It was the more agreeable. /
did not, wish to reduce this adventure
to the level Of the known. 1t was all
asked to sit there in the red ray of fire
and speak, the language of music with
a dream girl incarnated from the June
night
There was an interval of silence. OBJ
viously it was for me to break it, and
l suddenly began to ransack my brain
for good song. That was the wrong
place to Investigate. If I had left my
brain at Mrs. Witherspoon's it would
have been better. Promptings that are
worth obeying at such times arise from
the deep seated, unerring region of in
stinct. l could not think of the right
song, but if 1 had sung without think
ing there would have been no chance
OF mistake
While I hesitated, a little breeze