*BOOK I.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*THE DREAMER.*
So many of my dreams have come true, that I sometimes incline to believe
that dreams are in reality the only truths. I fancy this dream, at any
rate, will be fulfilled.
* * * * *
A hard gale rushed over a torn sea, and the drift was swept so that the
moon was obscured with every fresh gust. High overhead a clear, steely
sky was flecked here and there with fleecy white, and, ever and again,
the moon slipped her mantle of cloud from her rounded shoulder, and
looked around her with large, calm glances. But there was an
evil-looking sky away to the eastward, and the black wreaths of cloud
crept steadily upward, obscuring little by little the fair, glittering
sky. The swift waves gathered volume, and soon their hollows were like
great Panpipes through which the gale blew with many doleful sounds.
Everything to be seen on sea or sky promised a wild night, and the
powerful schooner yacht which was charging along over the running seas
was already reefed down closely. Light bursts of spray came aboard aft
like flying whip-lashes, and the man at the wheel stolidly shook his
head as the jets cut him. Right forward a slight sea sometimes came
over with a crash, but the vessel was in no trouble, and she looked as
if she could hold her own in a much worse breeze. I believe that only
poets and landsmen are fond of bad weather; and the steersman
occasionally threw a demure, quizzical glance at a young girl who was
hanging on by one hand to the companion hatch. The wind had heightened
her colour, and the chance gleams of the moon showed the girl's face as
a flash of warm brightness in the chill dreariness of the night. It was
a strange place and strange weather for a young lady to be out in, for
the autumn was far advanced, and the deadly gales might be expected at
any time; but this young person was in no way discomposed. There was
something almost weird in the sight of that glowing young face, placid
amid the fitful drifts; the screaming gusts caught at tiny stray curls
of her dark hair; the vessel advanced with short plunges, and the
flashing broad stream went past with that eerie moan which always makes
me think of dire things. The girl looked quietly forward, and it seemed
as if her spirit was unmoved by the tumult. She looked almost stern, for
her broad brows were a little bent, but her mouth was firm and kindly,
and her very impassivity gave sign of even temper. I do not like the
miniature style of portrait-painting, so I shall not catalogue the
features of this girl in the orthodox fashion. She would have drawn
your eye in any crowd, for she had that look of slight abstraction which
always marks those who are used at intervals to forget material things;
and the composed mouth and rather square chin hinted at a certain
capacity for practical affairs. The storm stirred her blood, and she
murmured at last, "Terrors take hold on him as waters; a tempest
stealeth him away in the night. The east wind carrieth him away, and he
departeth; and as a storm hurleth him out of his place."
I would have ventured to tell you a good deal about that young lady's
character, had I never heard her speak another word. The association,
the choice of words, the sombre music of the old English--all were
enough to show the bent of her mind.