But it happened that a light cloud passed over the
daughter's spirit; she looked gravely into the fire, and drew a breath
that was almost a sigh. It forced its way, in spite of a little
struggle to repress it. Then starting and blushing, she looked quickly
round the circle, as if they had caught a glimpse into her bosom.
The stranger asked what she had been thinking of.
"Nothing," answered she, with a downcast smile. "Only I felt
lonesome just then."
"Oh, I have always had a gift of feeling what is in other
people's hearts," said he, half seriously. "Shall I tell the secrets
of yours? For I know what to think when a young girl shivers by a warm
hearth, and complains of lonesomeness at her mother's side. Shall I
put these feelings into words?"
"They would not be a girl's feelings any longer if they could be
put into words," replied the mountain nymph, laughing, but avoiding
his eye.
All this was said apart. Perhaps a germ of love was springing in
their hearts, so pure that it might blossom in Paradise, since it
could not be matured on earth; for women worship such gentle dignity
as his; and the proud, contemplative, yet kindly soul is oftenest
captivated by simplicity like hers. But while they spoke softly, and
he was watching the happy sadness, the lightsome shadows, the shy
yearnings of a maiden's nature, the wind through the Notch took a
deeper and drearier sound. It seemed, as the fanciful stranger said,
like the choral strain of the spirits of the blast, who in old
Indian times had their dwelling among these mountains, and made
their heights and recesses a sacred region.
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