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Sir Mortimer by Mary Johnston
page 18 of 226 (07%)

"I see the ships, master!" cried the boy. "Ho, the _Cygnet_, the bonny
white _Cygnet!_"

They lay in a half-moon, with the westering sun striking full upon the
windows of their high, castellated poops. Their great guns gleamed; mast
and spar and rigging made network against the blue; high in air floated
bright pennants and the red cross in the white field. To and fro plied
small boats, while over the water to them in the wherry came a pleasant
hum of preparation for the morrow's sailing. Upon the _Cygnet_, lying
next to the _Mere Honour_, and a very noble ship, the mariners began
to sing.

"Shall we not row more closely?" cried Sedley. "The _Cygnet_ knows not
that it is you who pass!"

Sir Mortimer laughed. "No, no; I come to her arms from the Palace
to-night! Trouble her not now with genuflections and salutings." His
eyes dwelt with love upon his ship. "How clearly sounds the singing!"
he said.

So clearly did it sound over the water that it kept with them when the
ships were passed. Robin-a-dale had his fancies, to which at times he
gave voice, scarce knowing that he had spoken. "'Tis the ship herself
that sings," he now began to say to himself in a low voice, over and
over again. "'Tis the ship singing, the ship singing because she goes on
a voyage--a long voyage!"

"Sirrah!" cried his master, somewhat sharply. "Know you not that the
swan sings but upon one voyage, and that her last? 'Tis not the _Cygnet_
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