“Wilful, silly child! It is not proper for you to wander along that dreary road in the dark. Come with me.”
“Not I. Make yourself easy by recollecting that ‘naught is never in danger.’ See yonder in the west,—
|
‘Where, lo! above the sandy sunset rose The silver sickle of the green-gowned witch.’” |
She laughed lightly, derisively, and collected the sheets of music scattered on the bank.
Silently Dr. Grey returned to his ward, who exclaimed, at sight of him,—
“I am glad to see you again, for you stayed so long I was growing frightened. Did you find the singer?”
“Yes.”
“What is the matter? You look troubled and solemn.”
“I am merely annoyed by circumstances beyond my control.”