Agnes went, at length, and I heard Effies sigh of relief when we were
left alone, but only bid her "go and rest," while I paced to and fro,
still murmuring the refrain of Agnes's song.

The Vaughans came often, and we went often to them in the summer-home
they had chosen near us on the riverbank. I followed my own wayward
will, and Effie's wistful eyes grew sadder as the weeks went by.

One sultry evening, as we strolled together on the balcony, I was
seized with a sudden longing to hear Agnes sing, and bid Effie come with
me for a moonlight voyage down the river.

She had been very silent all the evening, with a pensive shadow on her
face and rare smiles on her lips. But as I spoke, she paused
abruptly, and, clenching her small hands, turned upon me with defiant
eyes,--crying, almost fiercely--

"No, I will not go to listen to that woman's songs. I hate her! yes,
more than I can tell! for, till she came, I thought you loved me; but
now you think of her alone, and chide me when I look unhappy. You treat
me like a child; but I am not one. Oh, Sir, be more kind, for I have
only you to love!"--and as her voice died in that sad appeal, she
clasped her hands before her face with such a burst of tears that I had
no words to answer her.

Disturbed by the sudden passion of the hitherto meek girl, I sat down on
the wide steps of the balcony and essayed to draw her to my knee, hoping
she would weep this grief away as she had often done a lesser sorrow.
But she resisted my caress, and, standing erect before me, checked
her tears, saying, in a voice still trembling with resentment and