" The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast. . Then he threw the letter at me. ‘Melusine…Melusine. “I believe after all it’s coming out!” said Miss Stanley. The man who came to our rooms, you know, that night was his friend. It was a charming sight to watch the motions of her tiny fingers as she pursued her task; and though the posture she adopted was not the most favourable that might have been chosen for the display of her sylphlike figure, there was something in her attitude, and the glow of her countenance, lighted up by the mellow radiance of the setting sun falling upon her through the panes of the little dormer-window, that seemed to the youth inexpressibly beautiful. It frightened her to behold her heart and mind thus laid bare; but the chapter following would reassure her. That is what terrified her: the consciousness that nothing in her life would be continuous, that she would no sooner form friendships (like the present) than relentless fate would thrust her into a new circle.
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