I began incredulously.

And, “Yes, I do!” she said, defiant. “And I think this ought to teach you what a comrade’s perfect confidence can be. Never complain to me of my want of trust in you again.”

In astonished and uneasy silence, I stood listening. The unseen pool rippled in the darkness with a silvery sound, as though a great fish were swirling there in the pallid lustre of the stars.

After a while she laughed outright — the light, mischievous laughter of a child.

“I feel like one of those smooth and lurking naiads which haunt lost pools — or like some ambushed water-sprite meditating malice, and slyly alert to do you a harm. Have a care, else I transform you into a fish and chase you under the water, and pinch and torment you!”