been my good and my evil genius. I love her in every mood, and I don't think I could hope for a better end than to be buried in her breast. Oh, you beautiful, beautiful water, how I love you—how I love you!"
As she spoke she stretched her arms out to where the stars were paling in anticipation of the rising moon. In any other woman such a gesture would have been theatrical and unreal in the extreme. But in her case it seemed only what one might expect from such a glorious creature.
"There is somebody," she continued, "who says that 'the sea belongs to Eternity, and not Time, and of that it sings its monotonous song for ever and ever.'"
"That is a very beautiful idea," I answered, "but don't you think there are others that fully equal it? What do you say to 'The sea complains upon a thousand shores'?"
"Or your English poet Wordsworth, 'The sea that bares her bosom to the wind'?"
"Let me meet you with an American: 'The sea tosses and foams to find its way up to the cloud and wind.' Could any thing be finer than that? There you have the true picture—the utter restlessness and the striving of the untamed sea."
"'Would'st thou,' so that helmsman answered,
'Learn the secret of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers
Comprehend its mystery!'"
"Bravo! That caps all."
For some seconds my companion stood silent, gazing across the deep. Then she said, very softly:
