"That's a fine tale," said Spurlock. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. " "Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly. ‘I’ll make it, miss. It has come,—and sooner than you expected. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls.
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