After a smiling pause--and good right had he to smile--he began anew,
always tossing the last sheet over his shoulder:--
"The sharp rain falling on the window-pane,
Rattling sleet--the wind-blown sleet."
Then prose: "It is very cold of mornings when the wind brings rain and
sleet with it. I heard the sleet on the window-pane outside, and thought
of you, my darling. I am always thinking of you. I wish we could both run
away like two lovers into the storm and get that little cottage by the
sea which we are always thinking about, my own dear darling. We could sit
and watch the sea beneath our windows. It would be a fairyland all of our
own--a fairy sea--a fairy sea...."
He stopped, raised his head, and listened. The steady drone of the
Channel along the sea-front that had borne us company so long leaped up a
note to the sudden fuller surge that signals the change from ebb to
flood. It beat in like the change of step throughout an army--this
renewed pulse of the sea--and filled our ears till they, accepting it,
marked it no longer.
"A fairyland for you and me
Across the foam--beyond ...
A magic foam, a perilous sea."
He grunted again with effort and bit his underlip. My throat dried, but I
dared not gulp to moisten it lest I should break the spell that was
drawing him nearer and nearer to the high-water mark but two of the sons
of Adam have reached. Remember that in all the millions permitted there
are no more than five--five little lines--of which one can say: "These
are the pure Magic.
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