He sang--
"Oh wildly wild the winter-blast
Is whirling round the snow;
The wintry storms are up at last,
And care not how they go.
In wreaths and mists, the frozen white
Is torn into the air;
It pictures, in the dreary light,
An ocean in despair.
Come, darkness! rouse the fancy more;
Storm! wake the silent sea;
Till, roaring in the tempest-roar,
It rave to ecstasy;
And death-like figures, long and white,
Sweep through the driving spray;
And, fading in the ghastly night,
Cry faintly far away."
I saw Adela shudder. Presently she asked her papa whether it was not
time to go home. Mrs. Armstrong proposed that she should stay all night;
but she evidently wished to go. It would be rather perilous work to
drive down the hill with the wind behind, in such a night, but a servant
was sent to hasten the carriage notwithstanding. The colonel and Percy
and I ran along side of it, ready to render any assistance that might be
necessary; and, although we all said we had never been out in such an
uproar of the elements, we reached home in safety.
As Adela bade us good night in the hall, I certainly felt very uneasy as
to the effects of the night's adventures upon her--she looked so pale
and wretched.
She did not come down to breakfast.
But she appeared at lunch, nothing the worse, and in very good spirits.
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