She looks too much like some radiant creature from another world,
to be long for this.
_Helen_. He will come, why should he not? Netty, fix your eye on that
opening in the woods, and if you see but a shadow crossing it, tell me
quickly.
_Jan_. I can see nothing--nothing at all. Marie sanctissima!--how quiet
it is! The shadows are straight here now, Miss Helen.
_Helen_. Noon--the very hour has come! Another minute it may be.--Noon,
you said, Netty?
(_Joining Janette at the window_.)
_Jan_. Yes, quite--you can see; and hark, there's the clock. Oh, isn't
it lonesome though? See how like the Sunday those houses look, with the
doors all closed and the yards and gardens still as midnight. If we
could but hear a human voice!--whose, I would not care.
_Helen_. How like any other noon-day it comes! The faint breeze plays in
those graceful boughs as it did yesterday; that little, yellow butterfly
glides on its noiseless way above the grass, as then it did;--just so,
the shadows sleep on the grassy road-side there;--yes, Netty, yes,
_'tis_ very lonely.--Hear those merry birds!
_Jan_. But I would rather hear that signal, Miss Helen, a thousand
times, than the best music that ever was played.
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