Waring laughed, but soon grew serious again. 'Silver,' he said, taking her into his arms, 'are you sure that you can love me as I crave?' (For he seemed at times tormented by the doubt as to whether she was anything more than a beautiful child.) He held her closely and would not let her go, compelling her to meet his ardent eyes. A change came over the girl, a sudden red flashed up into her temples and down into her white throat. She drew herself impetuously away from her lover's arms and fled from the room. 'I am not sure but that she is a water-sprite, after all,' grumbled Waring, as he followed her. But it was a pleasure now to grumble and pretend to doubt, since from that moment he was sure.
The next morning Fog seemed unusually cheerful.
'No wonder,' thought Waring. But the character of benefactor pleased him, and he appeared in it constantly.
'We must have the old castle more comfortable; I will try to send up some furniture from below,' he remarked, while pacing to and fro in the evening.
'Isn't it comfortable now?' said Silver. 'I am sure I always thought this room beautiful.'
'What, this clumsy imitation of a second-class Western steamer?
Child, it is hideous!'
'Is it?' said Silver, looking around in innocent surprise, while Fog listened in silence. Hours of patient labor and risks not a few over the stormy lake were associated with each one of the articles Waring so cavalierly condemned.
Then it was, 'How you do look, old gentleman! I must really send you up some new clothes.—Silver, how have you been able to endure such shabby rags so long?'
'I do not know,—I never noticed; it was always just papa, you know,' replied Silver, her blue eyes resting on the old man's clothes with a new and perplexed attention.
But Fog bore himself cheerily. 'He is right, Silver,' he said, 'I am shabby indeed. But when you go out into the world, you will soon forget it.'