“Too well?”
“I fear it.”
“Thou hast seen?”
“Nay, I have but felt.”
“Ah—I know what that meaneth!”
The words came in gasps. He turned aside, forlorn. But Deucalion, seizing his hands, besought. “May I be wrong—may I be wrong!”
The prince shook his head. A deathly paleness was upon him, and he began to totter. Deucalion, as he sustained him, implored him not to be overcome; and led him to a couch. Here he remained as if in stupor; but, erelong, stood up, himself, calm and resolute.
“Deucalion, I will look for the worst. But will beseech thou mayst be wrong.”
Then, under the stars, the two walked and whispered through the dreary night.
Early the next morning, they drew nigh the harbor. Almost was the moment at hand when the dear port in its tranquillity and beauty would gladden their eyes. Eagerly did the strangers, as well as the returning ones, await the first glimpse of this lauded haven.