"No, no," replied she, quickly, "not hurt—not in the least; only frightened within an inch of my life." She shuddered, and made as if to rise.
"Let me up, Belle; I 'm all right now—just a wee bit trembly from the shock, maybe, but I can stand."
She tried to laugh and to make light of the matter, but the pale lips and quivering muscles belied the attempt. I lifted her to her feet. Her cousin remained close to her, keeping a supporting arm round her waist and watching the white countenance with a passionate solicitude that made me glance curiously at her.
Every action, almost every word, of this vivid, high-spirited girl seemed to be an echo of her impetuous, wayward temper. Even a concern as natural as that excited by her cousin's present plight, was charged with an intensity which made me wonder what the effect might be if her feelings were ever deeply or ruthlessly stirred. While her affections were stamped with an immoderate fervor, one might readily enough fancy her resentment, fired by a word perhaps, striking with a blind vehemence that recked not at all of consequences. Her emotions, apparently, knew no happy, tranquil, steadfast medium.
As we stepped into the hall, Genevieve was saying, "I 'll go with you to the library. I merely got what I deserved, I suppose, for presuming to think that I might accomplish something single-handed. But—oh, it was dreadful!"
"What was?" bluntly demanded Miss Belle. "What silly notion ever made you jump up and sail out of the room that way?"
Genevieve turned to me with a faint smile.
"The face at the curtains," said she.
"Face!" echoed Miss Belle, manifestly believing that her cousin's mind was not normal. "For goodness' sake, Genevieve, what do you mean?"
But the girl continued to address me.