Page:Maud Howe - A Newport Aquarelle.djvu/128

 to be frothed into a white mass of foam at the bottom of the fall. A strong young willow-tree behind the rock served her as a support, and, twining one arm about its slender stem, she sat overhanging the waterfall, looking down into the deep pool.

The bare hand which embraced the trunk touched a rough surface, and her fingers traced the outline of some letters, cut into the bark. She could not see the letters, they were on the other side of the tree, but she had not forgotten the day when they were carved, all those years ago,—G. C. and C. F.? with a true lover's knot between the initials. She laid her cheek against the willow and sat quite silent, looking down, always down, into the black pool at her feet. The downcast eyelids quivered and let fall a tear, which dropped unnoted on her knee. Another and another drop of nature's balm coursed down the pale cheek, and the chest, trembled with emotion of a silent weeping. There was no violence,