"You've seen more than I have," said Dunham. "Wouldn't you like to go
forward, to the bow, and see how it looks there?"

"Yes, thank you," answered Lydia, "I would."

She tottered a little in gaining her feet, and the wind drifted her
slightness a step or two aside. "Won't you take my arm, perhaps?"
suggested Dunham.

"Thank you," said Lydia, "I think I can get along." But after a few
paces, a lurch of the ship flung her against Dunham's side; he caught
her hand, and passed it through his arm without protest from her.

"Isn't it grand?" he asked triumphantly, as they stood at the prow,
and rose and sank with the vessel's careering plunges. It was no gale,
but only a fair wind; the water foamed along the ship's sides, and,
as her bows descended, shot forward in hissing jets of spray; away on
every hand flocked the white caps. "You had better keep my arm, here."
Lydia did so, resting her disengaged hand on the bulwarks, as she bent
over a little on that side to watch the rush of the sea. "It really
seems as if there were more of a view here."

"It does, somehow," admitted Lydia."

"Look back at the ship's sails," said Dunham. The swell and press of
the white canvas seemed like the clouds of heaven swooping down upon
them from all the airy heights. The sweet wind beat in their faces,
and they laughed in sympathy, as they fronted it. "Perhaps the motion
is a little too strong for you here?" he asked.