If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. She was surprised at his modesty. “It isn’t only the dance,” she said. ‘I cannot possibly shoot a lady, you know. He returned the locket without comment. “You are beautiful, Lucy. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God.
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