It
seemed to sleep, but in its sleep it still waxed with the rising tide.
The eye could not mark its slow increase, but Beatrice, standing upon
the farthest point of the Dog Rocks, idly noted that the long brown
weeds which clung about their sides began to lift as the water took
their weight, till at last the delicate pattern floated out and lay like
a woman's hair upon the green depth of sea. Meanwhile a mist was growing
dense and soft upon the quiet waters. It was not blown up from the west,
it simply grew like the twilight, making the silence yet more silent and
blotting away the outlines of the land. Beatrice gave up studying the
seaweed and watched the gathering of these fleecy hosts.
"What a curious evening," she said aloud to herself, speaking in a low
full voice. "I have not seen one like it since mother died, and that
is seven years ago. I've grown since then, grown every way," and she
laughed somewhat sadly, and looked at her own reflection in the quiet
water.
She could not have looked at anything more charming, for it would have
been hard to find a girl of nobler mien than Beatrice Granger as on this
her twenty-second birthday, she stood and gazed into that misty sea.
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