CHAPTER III.

A PASTORAL VISIT.





The next morning rose neither "cherchef't in a comely cloud" nor "roab'd in
flames and amber light," but covered all in a rainy mist, which the wind
mingled with salt spray torn from the tops of the waves. Every now and then
the wind blew a blastful of larger drops against the window of my study
with an angry clatter and clash, as if daring me to go out and meet its
ire. The earth was very dreary, for there were no shadows anywhere. The
sun was hustled away by the crowding vapours; and earth, sea, and sky were
possessed by a gray spirit that threatened wrath. The breakfast-bell rang,
and I went down, expecting to find my Wynnie, who was always down first to
make the tea, standing at the window with a sad face, giving fit response
to the aspect of nature without, her soul talking with the gray spirit. I
did find her at the window, looking out upon the restless tossing of the
waters, but with no despondent answer to the trouble of nature. On the
contrary, her cheek, though neither rosy nor radiant, looked luminous, and
her eyes were flashing out upon the ebb-tide which was sinking away into
the troubled ocean beyond. Does my girl-reader expect me to tell her next
that something had happened? that Percivale had said something to her? or
that, at least, he had just passed the window, and given her a look which
she might interpret as she pleased? I must disappoint her. It was nothing
of the sort. I knew the heart and feeling of my child. It was only that
kind nature was in sympathy with her mood. The girl was always more