“Bird of ill omen! Why cry as in requiems? As for me, while you are fearing going down, I’ll be thinking of going forward!”
“And be disappointed, certainly, on your part, as I hope I may be mistaken on mine. We may not go down; we shall certainly not go forward!”
“Now, how like a wayward man! Since you can not have your way, cross me by predicting my frustration!”
“Oh, do not lay the blame on me! there are broader shoulders to bear it. Lay the blame on the Taurus and Lebanon ranges!”
“Well, this is an odd saying, surely!”
“Wait awhile, and you will find it very true, as well. We are to meet to-night, most likely, the Levanter or off-shore gale, Paul’s Euroclydon, charging down from its mountain castles. Taurus and Lebanon together form a cave of the winds!”
“And you seem glad that they are coming to battle us back?” spake the maiden, rebukingly.
“Yes, if they prolong our companionship. I can not rejoice in a speed that hastens our parting.”
The last sentence died on the chaplain’s paling lips with a sigh.
The maiden turned her eyes full on the speaker, then slowly, meditatively answered: