274 I G A- FISHING. 



the universe it seemed, and thrilled through my soul till I 

 sprang to my feet, and dashed out into the blinding, mad 

 tempest. It was so long since I had heard it, that I had 

 forgotten that voice of the mountain wind ; but now I re- 

 membered it as the blasts swept by me, wailing, shouting, 

 laughing, shrieking, and I retired to my warm nook, and 

 laughed back at the storm, and slept and dreamed. I 

 never slept better. 



"I awoke at day-break, and the storm was over. A 

 blue break in the clouds let through the light of a Novem- 

 ber moon, clear, soft, and exceedingly beautiful. Dawn 

 drove the moonlight out of the forest, and I pushed on 

 then and got my breakfast with old Steven in his cabin. 

 I have never slept in the forest since that night. Help 

 yourself to the claret, Effendi. It seems to me it's grow- 

 ing cold. Yes ; I have led that life, and liked it well 

 enough once." 



"You've told me of your forest experiences, Major, but 

 you rather fight shy of the subject of the red lips." 



" I tell you I have tasted the wine of red lips to intox- 

 ication : but there were lips that I never touched whose 

 utterances were more intoxicating." 



The Major sat looking into the fire; for though it was 

 August we had bright wood fires in the evenings, as we 

 often do at the Profile House. He looked very steadily at 

 the coals on the hearth, shivered once as if he were cold, 

 bolted two glasses of claret in quick succession, and I 

 waited, confident that I should hear his story at last. 

 Soon he began to talk. 



" Draw your chair close up. Light another pipe, and 

 fill your glass. It is a cold night. My old bones shudder 

 when I hear the wind wail over the house and through 

 the trees. Capital claret, that ! John, come in here. 



