“Do you feel cold, Eunice?” asked Crispin, noticing his companion shiver.
“A little.”
“Wait a moment, then. Your mother left a shawl near the window, I’ll fetch it to you at once.”
“Take care she does not see you.”
“Not much fear of that; she has an audience, and is happy.”
He went off laughing quietly; and Eunice, leaning on the balustrade of the terrace, stared at the wonderful beauty of the sky. Away in the west shone the silver round of the moon, and below her were gigantic black clouds, the edges of which were tipped with light. They looked like gigantic rocks piled up from earth to heaven, and above them shone the serene planet in an expanse of blue, as if she scorned their efforts to veil her face. Far below Eunice heard the musical splash of the fountains, and the chill odors of flowers floated upward, as though drawn by the spell of her beauty. She looked wonderfully lovely with her delicate face turned upward to the moon, and so thought Crispin, as he came lightly along the terrace with the fleecy shawl over his arm.
“I shall no longer call you the Fairy of Midnight,” he whispered, wrapping the shawl round her shoulders; “your name will be the ‘Moon Elf.’”
“Ah, what a charming title for a fairy story!” said Eunice, who was anything but silent when away from her mother. “Why do you not write a fairy story?”
“Because I am living one now.”
“Flatterer!”