"How could I forget it?" answered Alice. "Rosa has sung it to me several
times, but it did not sound to me as it did when you sang it."
"I will sing this one to you," said he; and Alice came and stood by his
side at the piano.
Quincy felt that the time to which he had looked forward so long had
come at last. He could restrain the promptings of his heart no longer.
He loved this woman, and she must know it; even if she rejected that
love, he must tell her.
"It is called 'The Bird of Love,'" he said. Then he played the prelude
to the song. He sang as he had never sung before; all the power and
pathos and love that in him lay were breathed forth in the words and
music of that song.
With his voice lingering upon the last word, he turned and looked up at
Alice. Upon her face there was a startled, almost frightened look.
"Shall I read the words to you, Miss Pettengill?" There was almost a
command in the way he said it. His love had o'ermastered his politeness.
Alice said nothing, but bowed her head.
Then Quincy recited the words of the song. He had no need to read them,
for he knew them by heart.
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