At length they gave up speaking to him, and through the silence came on his ear the sound of the old sweet solemn Song. Then the Child thought of his dream, of the Singers in heaven, and of the loving Voice, and he looked up on the sparkling sea and the sunny blue sky, and smiled through his tears. He felt ashamed of having been so cast down, and quietly took up the roll of parchments from the rocks.
It was traced all over with black figures, delicately and carefully drawn; but the Child could not see in them anything more than the delicate traceries he had often observed on the shells and flowers; and turn it over and gaze on it as he would, he could find nothing in it but a roll of dead leaves.
Nevertheless he took it with him to his cave (leaving the cover to the teredo as an acknowledgment of her kindness), and carefully replaced it in the wooden tube. At all events the little carved basket was beautiful, and still he could not help linking it with his dream, and with the heavenly Singers who knew the words of the Song.
PART II.—THE WORDS OF THE SONG.
CHAPTER I.
That night there was a great storm on the sea. The Child could not sleep for the tumult. There were thunders and lightnings, and all the winds seemed drawn up in battle, so that he could not distinguish the thunder of the clouds from the roar of the winds or the sullen plunges of the waves as they dashed into the hollows of the rocks, undermining the cliffs. Yet all this was not half so terrible to the Child as the sound of human voices like his own, which came to him wailing through the storm. He rose and stood at the entrance of his cave with his arms clinging to the trunk of an old tree, and looked out over the sea. Not a star was to be seen; and if he tried to speak he could scarcely hear his own voice. Yet through all the roar of the sea and the thunder and the wild raging of the winds, ever and anon came those plaintive human cries straight to the Child's heart. Now and then also he caught the gleam of a light twinkling far out on the waters, but it was extinguished in an instant, and the darkness looked darker than before. At length the wailing voices died away, and the gray morning broke over the foaming waves, and the storm began to lull.
When the day came up, all the sky was calm and bright as if nothing had happened; but the flowers lay exhausted on the mossy bank; the path into the wood was strewn with many branches torn from the trees; all the creatures seemed frightened and cowed by the storm; and the Child sat at his breakfast in silence and alone. He was half afraid to venture to the beach: the sea had not forgotten its last night's battles, and as far out as the Child's eyes could reach, angry waves were tossing their plumed crests, whilst on the shore they curved their proud necks, and foamed as if they would have swallowed the earth, dashing their spray over the tallest cliffs. And to the Child there was something terrible in the calm sunshine, which smiled down so peacefully on all this tumult.
Yet there was a kind of wild joy to him in watching the mighty waves. He stood as close to them as he could, and enjoyed the spray they flung in his face. He felt they were not at play this morning, but he wondered and rejoiced to see his old playfellows in this their hour of strength and daring; his spirit seemed to grow as he looked at them, and he began to feel a new sense of power and a longing to exercise it. So he clambered on among the rocks, breasting the wind, and fronting the waves, till he came to a quiet sandy bay at some little distance from his home. His sea friends, for the most part, kept themselves at home, the sand-borers in their sand-chambers, the fish in their shells, the crabs under the thick sea-weeds,—not yet feeling any confidence in the weather; so that he was more alone than usual.
And as he stood on the rocks which enclosed the bay, on the other side he caught sight of something white gleaming among the rocks. As fast as his little feet could carry him he hastened across the bay to discover what this could be, skirting the waves which curved towards the shore, and in his haste often plunging into them.
But when he reached the point to which he was hastening, surprise and awe nearly took away his breath, and he stood with parted lips and a sudden paleness in his cheeks. Lashed to a plank lay a little creature like himself,—a little maiden with her eyes closed as if she were asleep, and her lips and face as white as her dress.