154 BEATING THE SPRINGS AND THE WOOD. 



rather insidious way in which it was drawn from 

 me. Meanwhile Margaret and I became the 

 best of friends. I was accustomed, when the 

 paper was out, to spend the next day on the 

 moors, and in the evening wen.t to Mrs. Brady, 

 who always expressed herself happy to see me, 

 Margaret played charmingly. It was pleasant 

 in the turf-glow to listen to the weird and 

 intricate skeins of notes lit with poetry, like 

 some one's brown hair with threads of gold. 

 I sat as far away from the piano as I could ; at 

 least I generally did, except once, and then I 

 couldn't help it. I sat in a chair by my dar- 

 ling's side, and, as she bowed her head over 

 the notes, my face was very close to hers. 

 There was only one thought in our minds, 

 and we both knew it. With an impulse 

 I could no more help than I could help 

 breathing, I touched her lips with mine. It 

 was only for one instant. On went the 

 ripple of the waltz as though nothing had 

 happened ; on it went, but the notes were 

 freighted now, not with the mere fancies of the 

 artist, but with the burden of our own hopes 

 for the future* When the waltz was over, 



