Guy Kenmore's Wife and The Rose and the Lily

The moonlight lay on the garden wall And bathed each path in a silver glow;And over the towers of the grey hall Its pearly banner was trailing low.It was a night of nights. Moonlight—the silvery mystical entrancing love-breathing moonlight of exquisite June—fairest daughter of the year—lay over all the land. The bay—our own beautiful Chesapeake—shone gloriously in the resplendent light and rolled its foam-capped phosphorescent waves proudly on to the grand Atlantic.Ten thousand stars were in the sky Ten thousand in the sea.For every wave with dimpled crest That leaped upon the airHad caught a star in its embrace And held it trembling there!A wind from the sea—cool and salty and delicious—came up to Bay View House and stole in with the moonlight to the lace-draped windows of the parlor where a crumpled little figure crouched in a forlorn white heap on the wide old-fashioned window sill sobbing desperately through the plump little hands in which the girlish face was hidden.The spacious parlor with its handsome old-fashioned furniture and open piano was deserted and the weeping of the girl echoed forlornly through the room and blended strangely with the whispers of the wind and the sounds of the sea.Old Faith put her grotesque white-capped head inside the parlor door.Miss Irene darling won't you come and take your tea now? said she persuasively. There's strawberry short-cake and the reddest strawberries and yellowest cream added she artfully appealing to the young lady's well-known epicurean tastes.A sharp little voice answered back from the window seat:I won't take a thing Faith; I mean to starve myself to death!