 | CHAPTER III. Condensed novels and other papers |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Genevra Tompkins stood at the door of the log
cabin, looking after the retreating Overland Mail
stage which conveyed her father to Virginia City.
“He may never return again,” sighed the young girl
as she glanced at the frightfully rolling vehicle and
wildy careering horses—“at least, with unbroken
bones. Should he meet with an accident! I mind
me now a fearful legend, familiar to my childhood.
Can it be that the drivers on this line are privately
instructed to dispatch all passengers maimed by accident,
to prevent tedious litigation? No, no. But
why this weight upon my heart?”
She seated herself at the piano and lightly passed
voice, she sang the first verse of one of the
most popular Irish ballads:
Lies soft in the moonlight, ma bouchal vourneen:
The springing gossoons on the heather are still
And the caubeens and colleens are heard on the hills.”
But as the ravishing notes of her sweet voice died
upon the air, her hands sank listlessly to her side.
Music could not chase away the mysterious shadow
from her heart. Again she rose. Putting on a
white crape bonnet, and carefully drawing a pair of
lemon-colored gloves over her taper fingers, she
seized her parasol and plunged into the depths of
the pine forest.
| CHAPTER III. Condensed novels and other papers | |