the screams of demons."

"There are traditions connected with this place," said Bernard, "but
they are fast fading away, and promise soon to be forgotten."

"Are you acquainted with any?"

"A friend of mine has endeavored to rescue one from oblivion, but I
doubt if it would interest you."

"I am interested in everything that relates to this people. Tell me
the story now. What more fitting place for romance!"

"A fitting place certainly, but no fitting time. Romance would hardly
mitigate the keenness of the air, or diminish the probability of
taking cold, were you to stand here listening to Indian legends.
Besides, the tale is in manuscript, and I should not be able, relying
on memory, to do it justice."

"You shall read it to me this evening, where you cannot make such
excuses," she replied, taking again his arm, and resuming their walk,
"by the light of candles, and near the parlor fire, where we may hear,
and not feel the wind."

"But where would be the accompaniments of the tale? The framing I fear
would spoil the picture."

"You will have the benefit of contrast, which every great painter
desires."