As Alice drew suddenly back and shuddered, Sir Roland Lorraine threw his left arm round her, without a word, and looked at her. The light of the full moon fell on her face, through a cleft of jagged margins, and the shadow of a branch that had lost its leaves lay on her breast, and darkened it. “Why, Lallie, you seem to be quite frightened,” her father said, after waiting long; “look up at me, and tell me, dear.” “No, I am not at all frightened, papa, but perhaps I am a little out of spirits.” “Why?” asked Sir Roland; “you surely do not pay heed to old rhymes and silly legends. I call this a fine and very lively water. I only wish it were always here.” “Oh, papa, don’t say that, I implore you. And I felt you shiver when you saw it first. You know what it means for our family,--loss of life once, loss of property twice, and the third time the loss of honour,--and with that, of course, our extinction.” “You little goose, none can lose their honour without dishonourable acts. Come, Miss Cassandra; of the present Lorraines--a very narrow residue--who is to be distinguished thus?” “Father, you know so much more than I do; but I thought that many people were disgraced, without having ever deserved it.” “Disgraced, my darling; but not dishonoured. What could disgrace ever be to us?--a thing that comes and goes according to the fickle season--a result of the petty human weather, as this melancholy water is of the larger influence.” “Papa, then you own that it is melancholy. That was just what I wanted you to do. You always take things so differently from everybody else, that I began to think you would look upon this as a happy outburst of a desirable watering-water.” “Well done, Lallie! The command of language is an admirable gift. But the want of it leads to still finer issues. This watering-water seems inclined to go on for a long time watering.” “Of course, it must go flowing, flowing, until its time is over.” “Lallie, you have, among many other gifts, a decided turn for epigram. You scarcely could have described more tersely the tendencies of water. I firmly believe that this stream will go on flowing and flowing, until it quite stops.” “Papa, you are a great deal too bad. You must perceive that you are so even by the moonlight. I say the most sensible things ever thought of, and out of them you make nonsense. Now let me have my turn. So please you, have you thought of bridges? How is our butcher to come, or our miller, our letters, or even our worthy beggars? We are shut off in front. Without building a boat can I ever hear even uncle Struan preach? Hark! I hear something like him.” “You frivolous Lallie! you are too bad. I cannot permit such views of things.” “Of course, papa, I never meant that. Only please to listen.”