He would try sarcasm. “Do you intend to set up a hermitage here, and have your meals sent out from the hotel? It's a charming spot, and visited pretty constantly; but it's small, even for a hermitage.” Isabel moaned again with her hands still on her eyes, and wondered that he was not ashamed to make fun of her. He would try kindness. “Perhaps, darling, you'll let me carry you ashore.” “No, that will bring double the weight on the bridge at once.” “Couldn't you shut your eyes, and let me lead you?” “Why, it isn't the sight of the rapids,” she said, looking up fiercely. “The bridges are not safe. I'm not a child, Basil. O, what shall we do?” “I don't know,” said Basil, gloomily. “It's an exigency for which I wasn't prepared.” Then he silently gave himself to the Evil One, for having probably overwrought Isabel's nerves by repeating that poem about Avery, and by the ensuing talk about Niagara, which she had seemed to enjoy so much. He asked her if that was it; and she answered, “O no, it's nothing but the bridges.” He proved to her that the bridges, upon all known principles, were perfectly safe, and that they could not give way. She shook her head, but made no answer, and he lost his patience. “Isabel,” he cried, “I'm ashamed of you!” “Don't say anything you'll be sorry for afterwards, Basil,” she replied, with the forbearance of those who have reason and justice on their side. The rapids beat and shouted round their little prison-isle, each billow leaping as if possessed by a separate demon. The absurd horror of the situation overwhelmed him. He dared not attempt to carry her ashore, for she might spring from his grasp into the flood. He could not leave her to call for help; and what if nobody came till she lost her mind from terror? Or, what if somebody should come and find them in that ridiculous affliction? Somebody was coming! “Isabel!” he shouted in her ear, “here come those people we saw in the parlor last night.” Isabel dashed her veil over her face, clutched Basil's with her icy hand, rose, drew her arm convulsively through his, and walked ashore without a word. In a sheltered nook they sat down, and she quickly “repaired her drooping head and tricked her beams” again. He could see her tearfully smiling through her veil. “My dear,” he said, “I don't ask an explanation of your fright, for I don't suppose you could give it. But should you mind telling me why those people were so sovereign against it?” “Why, dearest! Don't you understand? That Mrs. Richard--whoever she is--is so much like me.”