At length Rose, who had noted
with wonder and a little anxiety this unusual absence, suggested to
her brother that they call upon one of her Indian friends. To this
Edward demurred, on the ground that the work in which he happened to
be engaged at the time could not possibly wait. But when he learned
that the beautiful Wanda was the friend alluded to he agreed to go
with her at once, saying that the work he was doing could wait as well
as not. Such was the manner in which brotherly affection was manifested
sixty years ago.
It was a still, almost breathless evening in June. From the meadows,
thickly starred with dew, rose the thin high chorus of the crickets,
while above, the commingling of gray cloud and crimson sunset had
subsided into dusk and golden twilight, which were giving place to the
white radiance of the moon slowly climbing the warm heights of heaven.
It was so quiet that the sound of waves and insects seemed like the
softest whispers of nature. Rose and Edward had rowed down the bay for
Helene, who usually accompanied them on their impromptu excursions by
lake and wood. Seen in the pale brilliance of sky and water her
loveliness had an almost unearthly quality, perfectly akin to the
night, but giving her a strange effect of soft remoteness from her
friends.
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