On being assured of that important fact, he turned to the Master Mechanic.
“Step on the music!”
Upon all ears burst an orchestration, The Song of the Sea. As surely did they hear it as though it had been carried hellward by the wind through shells, crevasses and metallic splinters. As by lutes and æeolean harps it was played, with crashes and staccato rumblings for bass.
The drama of mortal cowardice, destined to turn into contempt a too-long-lasting love, was on.
CHAPTER XXIV
Day lifts from her couch of mists to awaken betimes the Sea, her slumbering lord.
Last evening he had ordered her from his presence, as usual ashamed that she should witness his embrace of that mistress of his passions, Night, who incites him to the blackest of his crimes. Yet this morning she tiptoes down to his vast chamber, pale and sleepy-eyed in her diaphanous peignoir, there to hover over him, eager and fearful to give the early call.
Will he arise blustering, splash about in his bath and growl forenoon complaints at her until she can no longer smile—until she further angers him with tears? Or will his mood be equable? Will he respond to her sunny smiles and the sweet-zephyred nothings which she best knows to whisper in his ear?
Amiable enough he looks. But then, amiability usually characterizes the sleep of his billowy sort of spouse. Subconsciously he must have heard her step, for he sighs, tosses restlessly and flings up shapeless arms as though to enfold her.
Forgiveness flushes Day’s cheeks, her finger-tips, her dainty toes. Forgiveness is the power by which, through the blisses and tribulations of æons of their marital state, she has remained his dearest love and inspiration. It has kept her face fresh as when, in their infancy, the Great Minister made them one. It has enabled her to forget his brutalities of yesterday in the hope of kindness to-day.