incomparably light and diaphanous, bathed themselves in the glow. It
was a summer sunset, portending for the land a morrow of great heat.
But cool airs crept along the water, and the ferry-boats, thrust
shuttlewise back and forth between either shore, made a refreshing
sound as they crushed a broad course to foam with their paddles.
People were pulling about in small boats; from some the gay cries and
laughter of young girls struck sharply along the tide. The noise of
the quiescent city came off in a sort of dull moan. The lamps began
to twinkle in the windows and the streets on shore; the lanterns of
the ships at anchor in the stream showed redder and redder as the
twilight fell. The homesickness began to mount from Lydia's heart in
a choking lump to her throat; for one must be very happy to endure
the sights and sounds of the summer evening anywhere. She had to
shield her eyes from the brilliancy of the kerosene when she went
below into the cabin.




IV.


Lydia did not know when the captain came on board. Once, talking in
the cabin made itself felt through her dreams, but the dense sleep of
weary youth closed over her again, and she did not fairly wake till
morning. Then she thought she heard the crowing of a cock and the
cackle of hens, and fancied herself in her room at home; the illusion
passed with a pang. The ship was moving, with a tug at her side, the
violent respirations of which were mingled with the sound of the swift
rush of the vessels through the water, the noise of feet on the deck,