And through the windows of her eyes
We often saw her saintly soul,
Serene, and sad, and sorrowful,
Go sorrowing for lost Paradise.
Gerald Massy.
A few days after that Fay met with a slight accident.
The snow had been falling very heavily all night, and when Fay went to the window the next morning, she looked out on a white world, and not a vestige of the blue ice could be seen for the drifts that lay heaped on the little lake.
She called Hugh to look out with her. “What a pity,” she said, sorrowfully; “for we had asked the Romney girls and the Spooners to come up and skate this afternoon. Erle is so fond of young ladies, and he admires Dora Spooner immensely, and now I suppose there will be no skating.”
“Of course the men could sweep the snow away fast enough,” returned Hugh, with a hasty glance at the glorious prospect outside; there were tiny bird tracks on the white surface, some brown sparrows and a robin were hopping across the snow. Not a breath stirred the laden branches, though they drooped under their snowy festoons. “I dare say the ice would be right enough for a little while, but the air feels milder, and there is danger of a thaw.”
“Never mind, we will see how it is to-morrow, and Erle shall take me for a walk instead. I suppose,” a little plaintively, “you will be too busy to come too?”