Let us cross over to the other pavement." And they walked over to the other side of the street, and gazed upward at the house.
"Let us sit down here," suggested Clarence,--"here, on this broad stone; it is quite dark now, and no one will observe us." "No, no!" remonstrated Charlie; "the stone is too damp and cold." "Is it ?" said Clarence vacantly.

And taking out his handkerchief, he spread it out, and, in spite of Charlie's dissuasions, sat down upon it.
"Charlie," said he, after gazing at the house a long time in silence, "I have often come here and remained half the night looking at her windows.
People have passed by and stared at me as though they thought me crazy; I was half crazy then, I think.

One night I remember I came and sat here for hours; far in the night I saw her come to the window, throw up the casement, and look out.

That was in the summer, before I went away, you know.

There she stood in the moonlight, gazing upward at the sky, so pale, so calm and holy-looking, in her pure white dress, that I should not have thought it strange if the heavens had opened, and angels descended and borne her away with them on their wings." And Clarence closed his eyes as he concluded, to call back upon the mirror of his mind the image of little Birdie as she appeared that night.
They waited a long while, during which there was no evidence exhibited that there was any one in the house.