Soon they came to treat Lucy almost as mother, pulling hard at her brown curls and laughing delightedly as they sprang back into their spiral shape. His heart hammered in his chest. Such was the condition of his mind that the danger exhilarated rather than depressed him. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. I somehow understood. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story. See? Down we should rush in a foam—in a cloud of snow—to flight and a dream. Rhea commanded her.
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