As yet
they felt no wind. The dense weight of mist choked the keen, impelling
air.
"I think the weather is breaking; we are going to have a storm," said
Beatrice, a little anxiously.
Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when the mist passed away from
them, and from all the seaward expanse of ocean. Not a wrack of it was
left, and in its place the strong sea-breath beat upon their faces. Far
in the west the angry disc of the sun was sinking into the foam. A great
red ray shot from its bent edge and lay upon the awakened waters, like a
path of fire. The ominous light fell full upon the little boat and full
upon Beatrice's lips. Then it passed on and lost itself in the deep
mists which still swathed the coast.
"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she cried, raising herself and pointing to
the glory of the dying sun.
"It is beautiful indeed!" he answered, but he looked, not at the sunset,
but at the woman's face before him, glowing like a saint's in its golden
aureole. For this also was most beautiful--so beautiful that it stirred
him strangely.
"It is like----" she began, and broke off suddenly.
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