“True—true. It doth confound me.”
Too soon came the night. When all had parted for rest, the unhappy Deucalion led the prince aside that he might relate the vision. The latter, though greatly shaken, could not bring himself to accept it, but again and again insisted:
“Deucalion, thou art wrong. For once, mayst thou be wrong. I cannot believe. Our dear harbor, the vessels that have done such service, the homes, the lives!”
Deucalion was agonized; and his pallor was extreme.
“Deucalion, be not thus wrought. Let mine be the sorrow. Enough hast thou borne.”
“It may be that I should not have told thee.”
“Thou hast my thanks. Should the worst come, I am ready. Shouldst thou be wrong, should our harbor welcome us in its pride, there is the more cause for joy.”
Deucalion looked upon him piteously; then taking his hand kissed it. “Dear Prince,” he wept, “Dear Prince!”
“Thou hast more to tell, Deucalion? My father, my mother—is it well with them?”
“Dear Prince, it is well with them—too well.”