A day came after the winter storms, early, in March, with all the
strength and sweetness of spring in it; though there was sharpness
enough in the air to make my veins tingle. The sun was shining with so
much heat in it, that I might be out-of-doors all day under the shelter
of the rocks, in the warm, southern nooks where the daisies were
growing. The birds sang more blithely than they had ever done before; a
lark overhead, flinging down his triumphant notes; a thrush whistling
clearly in a hawthorn-bush hanging over the cliff; and the cry of the
gulls flitting about the rocks; I could hear them all at the same
moment, with the deep, quiet tone of the sea sounding below their gay
music. Tardif was going out to fish, and I had helped him to pack his
basket. From my niche in the rocks I could see him getting out of the
harbor, and he had caught a glimpse of me, and stood up in his boat,
bareheaded, bidding me good-by. I began to sing before he was quite out
of hearing, for he paused upon his oars listening, and had given me a
joyous shout, and waved his hat round his head, when he was sure it was
I who was singing. Nothing could be plainer than that he had gone away
more glad at heart than he had been all the winter, simply because he
believed that I was growing lighter-hearted. I could not help laughing,
yet being touched and softened at the thought of his pleasure. What a
good fellow he was! I had proved him by this time, and knew him to be
one of the truest, bravest, most unselfish men on God's earth. How good
a thing it was that I had met with him that wild night last October,
when I had fled like one fleeing from a bitter slavery! For a few
minutes my thoughts hovered about that old, miserable, evil time; but I
did not care to ponder over past troubles. It was easy to forget them
to-day, and I would forget them. I plucked the daisies, and listened
almost drowsily to the birds and the sea, and felt all through me the
delicious light and heat of the sun. Now and then I lifted up my eyes,
to watch Tardif tacking about on the water. There were several boats
out, but I kept his in sight, by the help of a queer-shaped patch upon
one of the sails. I wished lazily for a book, but I should not have read
it if I had had one. I was taking into my heart the loveliness of the
spring day.
By twelve o'clock I knew my dinner would be ready, and I had been out in
the fresh air long enough to be quite ready for it. Old Mrs. Tardif
would be looking out for me impatiently, that she might get the meal
over, and the things cleared away, and order restored in her dwelling.
So I quitted my warm nook with a feeling of regret, though I knew I
could return to it in an hour.
But one can never return to any thing that is once left. When we look
for it again, even though the place may remain, something has vanished
from it which can never come back. I never returned to my spring-day
upon the cliffs of Sark.
A little crumbling path led round the rock and along the edge of the
ravine. I chose it because from it I could see all the fantastic shore,
bending in a semicircle toward the isle of Breckhou, with tiny,
untrodden bays, covered at this hour with only glittering ripples, and
with all the soft and tender shadows of the headlands falling across
them. I had but to look straight below me, and I could see long tresses
of glossy seaweed floating under the surface of the sea. Both my head
and my footing were steady, for I had grown accustomed to giddy heights
and venturesome climbing. I walked on slowly, casting many a reluctant
glance behind me at the calm waters, with the boats gliding to and fro
among the islets. I was just giving my last look to them when the loose
stones on the crumbling path gave way under my tread, and before I could
recover my foothold I found myself slipping down the almost
perpendicular face of the cliff, and vainly clutching at every bramble
and tuft of grass growing in its clefts.