"It is not Lina, James, but one whom you will not be less pleased to see, I am sure. How is this? You look pale and careworn, my friend; have you, also, been ill?"
For one instant, the flash that lighted up Harrington's eyes was dazzling—the next, he grew calm again; but the expression of his face was unutterably mournful.
"I had a very long walk; the fine weather tempted me too far," he said, with a faint smile, relinquishing her hand almost the moment it was taken.
He did not inquire after her health, but stood for a moment, thoughtfully regarding her.
Mabel smiled, and instantly his own features grew luminous.
"I am glad, I am very glad to see you so much better," he said, yielding to the old friendly habit; "it has been very lonely without you."
"I hope you missed me," said Mabel, the pure joy of an affectionate heart breaking over her face. "That was a fearful night, Harrington."
"It was, indeed, fearful. I shudder to remember that night. It seems impossible to imagine anything more dreadful than the scene, as that steamer ploughed over your boat. When you came up, with the blue lightning quivering around you, the rocks seemed to reel under my feet. Nothing but the power of God could have saved you then."
"I remember—I knew it all," said Mabel, lifting her clasped hands gratefully upward. "The last thing that left me, was your figure on the rock; no, not on the rock, but midway between me and the bleak waves. I tried to scream, but the waters choked me."
Harrington took her hand, and wrung it with unconscious warmth.