"If you wish it," said Arthur, simply; "I wrote it two or three
months ago, when the country was different from now."

He fumbled in his pocket for some papers, and then in a low tone he
read these words to the girl:

AT MIDNIGHT

The burden of the winter
The year haa borne too long,
And oh, my heart is weary
For a springtime song!

The moonbeams shrink unwelcomed
From the frozen lake;
Of all the forest voices
There is but one awake

I seek thee, happy streamlet
That murmurest on thy way,
As a child in troubled slumber
Still dreaming of its play;

I ask thee where in thy journey
Thou seeest so fair a sight,
That thou hast joy and singing
All through the winter night.

Helen was silent for a few moments, then she said, "I think that is
beautiful, Arthur; but it is not what I want."