Mr. Haveloc led the poney carefully down the steep steps and over the shingles to the sands, now stretching far and dry, the tide being at its lowest.
"How glad I am that we live by the sea," said Aveline. "It is delightful for a part of the year," said Mr. Haveloc. "I should not care about it in winter."
"But it is in winter," said Aveline, "that the waves are so rough; you should see them running against that headland on a stormy night; when you catch a glimpse of the foam tossed high against the very peak of the rock there, just when the wind has torn the clouds asunder, and let out a glimpse of the moon for an instant. I would not miss the sea in winter time. And then the hoarse sound of the waves on the shingles grows louder when mixed up with the boisterous north wind. And the surge boils and swells, and then the white froth parts and shows the dark angry water beneath. No! trees and fields are barren in winter; but there is always life in the sea!"
"And this creature is all this while slowly and invisibly borne onwards to the grave," he thought, "so full of the best part of life—the intellectual!"
"You are thinking!" said Aveline.
"And so were you; only you thought aloud," he answered.
"Ah! look Mr. Haveloc, they are launching a boat; let us go a few steps farther and see them. Don't you like the rough noise, and the splash, and the voices of the fishermen together. See, just in the moon's path; and now they are in shadow again. When I was a child I used to envy the fishermen as I saw them starting on a bright evening like this, for their merry night's fishing."
"And they envied you, perhaps, that you were going to enjoy a good night's rest, instead of getting wet and weary, and not knowing whether they should catch fish enough to buy their next day's breakfast."
"Perhaps so," said Aveline. "Few people would envy me now."
"Because you are in bad health."