Soon the passion and charm of the poem cast its spell over them both as
they followed the fate of the unhappy lovers through the heart-ache of
their evanescent dream.

Their eyes met with a quick thrill of understanding.

"It is--Fate, again," Paul whispered. "Read on, Opal!"

She read and again they looked, and again they understood.

"I cannot read any more of it," she faltered, a real fear in her voice.
"Let us put it away."

"No, no!" he pleaded. "It's true--too true. Read on, please, dear!"

"I cannot, Paul. It is too sad!"

"Then let me read it, Opal, and you can listen!"

And he took the book gently from her hand, and read until the sun was
smiling its farewell to the laughing waters.

* * * * *

That evening a strong wind was playing havoc with the waves, and the
fury of the maddened spray was beating a fierce accompaniment to their
hearts.

"How I love the wind," said Opal. "More than all else in Nature I love