By Thomas Nelson Page THUS spake to Man the thousand-throated Sea : Thou thinkest thee and thine, God's topmost crown. How infinite thine insignificance. Thou boastest of thine age-thy works-thyself: The Earth, thy mother, from whose breast thou draw'st, Was agèd cycles ere thine earliest dawn ; But they to me are young: I gave them birth. God called them forth from me, as thee from Earth. I wash their rock-foundations under; tear I build the purple towers that hold the West And send the winds forth on mine embassies ; And lade our caravans with merchandise, That dwarf the mountains over which they sail, The Woodsman couched beside his forest brook, I sing as softly as a mother croons WHEN Pats, in the early morning light, stepped out upon the deck, he found, enveloping all things, a thick, yellow fog. Miss Marshall, her maid, and Father Burke stood peering over the starboard rail at an approaching life-boat. This boat had been ashore with baggage and was now returning for the passengers. The fog lifted at intervals, allowing fugitive glimpses of a wooded promontory not a quarter of a mile away. Pats was struck afresh this morning by Miss Marshall's appearance. She wore a light gray dress and a hat with an impressive bunch of black, and he saw, with sorrowing eyes, that she and all that pertained to her had become more distantly patrician, more generally exalted and unattainable, if possible, than heretofore. He knew little of women's dress, but in the style and cut of this particular gown there existed an indefinable something that warned him off. No mortal woman in such attire could fail to realize her own perfection. He also knew that the apparent simplicity of the hat and gown were delusive. And this woman was so accustomed to the adoration of men that it only annoyed her! Verily, if there was a gulf between them yesterday, to-day it had become a shoreless ocean! Moreover, he thought he detected in Father Burke's face, as they shook hands at parting, a look of triumph imperfectly suppressed. While causing a mild chagrin it brought no surprise, as the lady's manner this morning, although civil, was of a temperature to put the chill of death upon presumptuous hope. After a formal good-by to the uncle, Pats climbed into the little boat and asCopyright, 1901, by J. A. Mitchell. sisted the lady to a seat in the stern. Then he turned about and held forth his hands toward the maid. She stepped back and shook her head. "Don't be afraid,” he said. no danger." "There is "But I am not going ashore, sir." He looked toward Miss Marshall, who explained: "Louise is not coming with us. She goes on to Quebec, where I am to meet her in a fortnight." So they pushed away and rowed off into the fog, waving adieus to the little group that watched them from the Maid of the North. Both kept their eyes upon the steamer until a veil of gauze, ethereal but opaque, closed in between them. The sun, still near the horizon, lit up the mist with a golden light, and Pats with the haughty lady seemed floating away into enchanted space. Nearing the shore they made out more clearly the coast ahead. This fragment of primeval forest, its rocky sides rising fifty feet or thereabouts above the water, was crowned with gigantic pines, their tops, above the mist, all glowing in the morning light. The two passengers regarded this scene in silence, impressed by its savage beauty. The little pier at which they landed, neglected and unsubstantial, seemed barely strong enough to bear their weight. "Is this the only landing-place?" Pats demanded of the boatswain. "No, sir. There's another one farther in, but the tide isn't right for it." Just off the pier stood their trunks, and beside them two boxes and a barrel. Of the three passengers, the gladdest to get ashore, if one could judge by outward manifestations, was Solomon. He ran and barked and wheeled about, jumping against his master as if to impart some of his own en thusiasm. His joy, while less contagious than he himself desired, produced one good result in causing the lady to unbend a little. At first she merely watched him with amusement, then talked and played with him. But not freely and with abandon; only so far as was proper with a dog whose master had become a suspicious character. As the life-boat disappeared toward the invisible steamer Pats turned to his companion. Welcome to this island, Miss Marshall. I am now the host-and your humble and obedient vassal. Shall I hurry on ahead and send down for the baggage? Or, shall we go on together and surprise the family?" Her lips parted to say: "Let us go on together," but she remembered Father Burke and his warning. So she answered, with a glance at the trunks, "Perhaps you should go first. The sooner the baggage is removed the better." With a little bow of acquiescence Pats turned and climbed the rocky path. She followed, but at a distance, and slowly, that there might be no confusion in his mind as to her desire to walk alone. To make doubly sure she paused about halfway up and listened for a moment to the tumbling of the waves upon the little beach below. Reaching the top of this path she found herself at the edge of a forest. It was more like a grove-a vast grove of primeval pines. Into the shadow of this wood she entered, then stopped, and gazed about. Such trees she had never seen; an endless vista of gigantic trunks, like the columns of a mighty cathedral, all towering to a vault of green, far above her head. And this effect of an interior-of some boundless temple-was augmented by the smooth, brown floor; a carpet of pineneedles. With upturned face and halfclosed eyes the girl drew a long, deep breath. The fragrance of the pines, the sighing of the wind through the canopy above, all were soothing to the senses; and yet, in a dreamy way, they stirred the imagination. This was fairy land-the enchanted forest-the land of poetry and peace-of calm content, far away from common things. And that unending lullaby from above! What music could be sweeter? From this revery-of longer duration than she realized-she was awakened by a distant voice of a person shouting. She could see Pats off at the end of the point waving his handkerchief and trying to attract the attention of somebody on the water. Perhaps the gardener, or some fisherman. Walking farther on, into the wood, she became more and more impressed by the solemn beauty of this paradise. And the carpet of pine-needles seemed placed there with kind intent as if to insure a deeper silence. She resolved to spend much of her time in these woods, and, even now, she found herself almost regretting the proximity of her friends. In the distance, between the trunks of the trees, came glimpses, first of Solomon, then of his master, moving hastily about as if on urgent business. She smiled, a superior, tolerant smile at the inconsistency-and the sacrilege of haste or of any kind of business in the sacred twilight of this grove, this realm of peace. And so, she strolled about, resting at intervals, inhaling the odors of the pines, and dreaming dreams. In these reveries came no thoughts of time until she saw the enemy-Pats-approaching. His silent footsteps on the smooth, brown carpet made him seem but a spirit of the wood-some unsubstantial denizen of this enchanted region. But in his face and manner there was something that dispelled all dreams. before her, out of breath. house here! He stopped "There is no With a frown of dismay she took a backward step. Indicating by a gesture the cottage out upon the point, she said: The house we saw from the boat; what is that?" "I cannot imagine. But it is no gardener's cottage.” "Then what is it?" "Heaven knows," he answered, with a joyless smile. "It looks like a room in a museum, or a bric-à-brac shop." "But how do you know there is no other house?" "I have been over the whole point. I climbed that cliff, behind there, and got a view of the country all about. There is not a house in sight." "Impossible !" "Nor a settlement of any kind." gray suit with voluminous knickerbockers, "Surely, somebody can give us infor- and yellow stockings-studied the newcomers, with his head to one side, expres mation." "So it would seem, but I have hunted sing himself in sarcastic gutturals. in vain for a human being." "The people you were calling to from the cliff, couldn't they tell you something?" "There were no people there. I was trying to stop the steamer." She regarded him in fresh alarm. "Do you mean they have landed us out of our way?—at the wrong place?" He hesitated. "I am not sure. But we can always get the people of this cottage to take us along in their boat. It is still early; only nine o'clock." As they walked toward the cottage she noticed that he was short of breath and that he seemed tired. But his manner was cheerful, even inspiriting, and while she took care to remember that he was still in disgrace, she felt her own courage reviving under the influence of his livelier spirits. Besides, as they stepped out of the woods into the open space at the southern end of the point-a space about two acres in extent and covered with grass -and saw the blue sea on three sides, she found new life in the air that came against her face. In deep breaths she inhaled this air. Turning her eyes to her left she beheld for the first time the front of the building they had sighted from the steamer. This building, one story high, of rough stone, was nearly sixty feet long by about thirty feet in width. "What a fascinating cottage!" she exclaimed. "It is almost covered with ivy, roof and all! "' "Yes, it is picturesque, and I am curious to see the sort of family that lives in such a place." "Is no one there now ?" "Nobody." "Nor anywhere near ?" "No. I have looked in every direction-and shouted in every direction. They are probably off in their boat." As Pats and Elinor approached the building and stood for a moment before the door, a squad of hens and chickens, most of them white, began to gather about. They seemed very trusting and not at all afraid. The guiding spirit of the party—a tall, self-conscious rooster, attired, apparently, in a scarlet cap, a light 66 "That fellow," said Pats, seems to be making side remarks about us, and they are not complimentary." His companion paid no attention to this speech. She had regretted her enthusiasm over the cottage. Enthusiasm might encourage a belief that she was enjoying his society. So she remarked, in a colder tone, "I think you had better knock." He knocked. They listened in silence. He knocked again. Still no answer. Then he opened the door and entered, she following cautiously. After one swift, comprehensive survey, she turned to him in amazement. He was watching her, expecting this effect. The interior of the building was practically a single room. From the objects contained it might be the hall of a palace, or of an old château-or of a gallery in some great museum. On the walls hung splendid tapestries and rare old paintings. Beneath them stood Italian cabinets of superb design, a marriage chest, a Louis XV. sofa in gilt, upholstered with Beauvais tapestry, chairs and bergère to match. Scattered about were vases in old Sèvres, clocks in ormolu, miniatures and the innumerable objects of ancestral and artistic value pertaining to a noble house. Over all lay the mellowness of age, those harmonies of color that bewitch the antiquary. Dumfounding it certainly was, the sudden transition from primeval nature without to this sumptuous interior. Conspicuous in the sombre richness of these treasures were two marble busts, standing on either side of the great tapestry fronting the door. They were splendid works of art, larger than life, and represented a lofty individual who might have been a marshal of France with the Grand Condé, and an equally exalted personage, presumably his wife. These impressive ancestors rested on pedestals of Sienna marble. Elinor Marshall found no words to express her amazement. She stood in silence, her eyes, in a sort of bewilderment, moving rapidly about the room. At last in a low, awe-struck voice she said : |