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"It is stripped
of all its ornamental disguises,--so slender, yet piercing!"
"A needle can pain like a sword-blade. There goes the moon in clouds.
Hark! What was that? A cry?" And he started to his feet.
"No," she said,--"it is only the wild music of the lake, the voices of
shadows calling to shadows."
"There it is again, but fainter; the wind carries it the other way."
"It is a desolating wind."
"And the light on the land is like that of eclipse!"
He stooped and raised her and folded her in his arms.
"I have a strange, terrible sense of calamity, _Mignonne!_" he said.
"Let it strike, so it spare you!"
"Nothing can harm us," she replied, clinging to him. "Even death cannot
come between us!"
"Marguerite!" said Mr. Laudersdale, entering, "where is your mother?"
"She went down to the lake, Sir."
"She cannot possibly have gone out upon it!"
"Oh, she frequently does; and so do we all."
"But this high wind has risen since. The flaws"----And he went out
hastily.


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