"I am afraid you will have to be Mars," she said somewhat anxiously.
"Not a bit of it," he replied cheerfully, "Mars is generally represented with a long beard, and look, I have but a slight moustache; have you ever noticed," he continued, "that all these planets move in circles. I think the circle is the ideal figure of the Creator. Man cannot measure a circle or sphere."
"I thought the heavenly bodies moved in ellipses," she interrupted.
"Yes, but ellipses are but a form of circles."
"Of course, I had never thought about it before, one has so much to learn in life. Nature's wonders are numerous and full of instruction for the thoughtful student. It seems to me sometimes that my soul converses with nature. A cloud obscures the sky, and I feel that cloud passing over my heart; a ray of sunshine illumines the earth, and causes my flowers to open their petals and the dew-drops on the grass to shine like millions of diamonds, and I smile."
"You have the soul of a poetess," he said.
She laughed a rippling laugh. "I do not know, but I think the study of nature, the proper study of man."
"Others,--with a less poetic soul, doubtless--seem to differ from you. I think Pope did. But you love nature, and do not care for man."
When Adèle bade good-night to Frank that evening, a strange presentiment of coming evil overcame her.
She walked inside her father's house. When she entered the kitchen she was surprised at finding it empty. The lamp was on the table. It was lighted. Beside it was an empty mug. She lighted a candle, went into the parlour, and divested herself of her hat and jacket, thinking her father would soon return.
She did not feel at ease, however. Every other minute she turned round nervously, half afraid of finding someone in the room. Where could her father be? She grew anxious. Going at the foot of the stairs, she called out: "Father, father."
Not a sound, save that of her voice which sounded funereally.
She went to the door, opened it, and looked outside. Everything was still. All at once she heard something. It was not a shout, it was a scream, a shriek, an entreaty; it came again, much louder this time, she could distinctly hear the word: "Help."
She distinguished that voice; there was no mistaking it, she would have discerned its sound amongst ten thousand. This voice was Frank's. He had cried, he had implored, there was but one thing for her to do--to run to his aid.