I’M shaken. I can’t help it. Brendon was silent. “You are Mademoiselle Pellissier?” he asked, without rising to his feet. She had first picked up the fiddle back when it was still called a viol, that was how long she had been at it. He wondered why she thought love made people happy, and began to talk of the smilax and pinks that adorned the table. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. “Are you in a hurry? Will you come in and have some coffee?” He hesitated, and glanced towards her companion. She dare not risk it. As he anticipated, he was here comparatively screened from the fury of the wind; and when he gazed upon the roaring fall beneath him, visible through the darkness in a glistening sheet of foam, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his providential deliverance.
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