V
With the first peep of day, I retired from the open to my old lair among
the sand hills, there to await the coming of my wife. The morning was
gray, wild, and melancholy; the wind moderated before sunrise, and then
went about, and blew in puffs from the shore; the sea began to go down,
but the rain still fell without mercy. Over all the wilderness of links
there was not a creature to be seen. Yet I felt sure the neighborhood was
alive with skulking foes. The light that had been so suddenly and
surprisingly flashed upon my face as I lay sleeping, and the hat that had
been blown ashore by the wind from over Graden Floe, were two speaking
signals of the peril that environed Clara and the party in the pavilion.
It was, perhaps, half-past seven, or nearer eight, before I saw the door
open, and that dear figure come toward me in the rain. I was waiting for
her on the beach before she had crossed the sand hills.
"I have had such trouble to come!" she cried. "They did not wish me to go
walking in the rain."
"Clara," I said, "you are not frightened!"
"No," said she, with a simplicity that filled my heart with confidence.
For my wife was the bravest as well as the best of women; in my
experience, I have not found the two go always together, but with her they
did; and she combined the extreme of fortitude with the most endearing and
beautiful virtues.
Pages:
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253