He did not say these things; indeed there was little real conversation between them, yet there was no absolute constraint such as might naturally fall upon the first meeting of persons so far removed from each other in years, and in the scenes of their lives. On the contrary, the broken sentences and pauses of silence were filled up with a world of pleasant sensations; the youth wondered at his own happiness, and the lady forgot her sorrow. Within the last half-hour she seemed no longer alone in the world. All this time the wheel went droning on, and the thread lengthened; a human hand was spinning at one end of the room, and destiny at the other.
At last, Norman remembered his errand, and repeated Lady Phipps's invitation; coupled with a message from the governor, who, on leaving home for a few days, had delegated to the young secretary the pleasant task of urging his hospitality upon the lady who had interested them all so much.
Norman thought that the lady grew more reserved and pale as he delivered the first portion of this message; but when he mentioned the absence of the governor, she brightened up and accepted the invitation with something like excitement.
Lady Phipps had sent a carriage for her guest, but Barbara refused the accommodation. She would walk along the beach: the day was so bright, the sea breeze so invigorating, and the distance by no means too great for a well-educated Englishwoman. The carriage might take such portions of her wardrobe as were necessary, but she preferred to walk. So the two went away together, depressed a little, no one could tell why; but Barbara's first excitement had something restive in it, and the sadness that followed made her thoughtful, and kept the youth silent.
They came upon the shore, opposite the breakers in which she had been so nearly wrecked. Some fragments of the broken boat were visible, ploughed deeply in the sand. By these alone she recognized the spot again. The harbor was serene as a mountain lake, one sheet of glittering silver swelling gently to the rising tide. She looked wistfully seaward a while, and turned away, sighing heavily, and murmured, with downcast eyes, "Oh, if they had not been so kind!"
"Indeed," said Norman, "I shall never forget your looks that day, as the boat made the fatal plunge; were I to live a thousand years, those eyes would haunt me: they seemed black as night; yet are so blue now."
"Yes, I was afraid," said Barbara. "To die was to lose a great hope. It would not be so now."
She said this very quietly, but with a depth of sorrow in her voice that touched the young man.
"The shock has made you nervous, dear lady. I have often heard it said that terror does its most cruel work on the system after the occasion that called it forth is passed. You are a stranger in the country, too, and that counts for something."
"Yes, I am indeed a stranger."