"Do you know why I have brought you here?"
Really the question did not need an answer. The reply was evident. The spot was charming. Sufficient shade above, mossy verdure underneath, and all around us, except upon the river side, tall bracken, which completely obscured us from the vulgar gaze. Ernest supplied an answer of his own.
"Do you remember that air which we heard played upon the violin? Do you remember that I told you it was a song of Coursault's, which he called, 'Where the Willows cast their Shade'? I told you, too, that it was written to commemorate some pleasant days which we had spent together. Those pleasant days were spent upon the river, and the pleasantest of all those pleasant days were spent where we are now."
"Ernest!"
As she called upon the young man's name the lady gave a little shudder. It must be allowed that his manner was distinctly sombre.
"It was a favourite place with him. He used to rave about it in that raving way of his. He used to say that here he would like to die and be buried. He came here often when he was alone, and it was here he wrote that song. You see it is here that the willows cast their shade."
He raised his hand with a gesture which was distinctly gruesome. Looking up I noticed, for the first time, that the trees above us were willow trees.
"I wonder why it is that the violin always plays that song?"
And there came an echo from the young lady—
"I wonder!"
As she echoed the young gentleman's interroga-
