Maurice made no reply to this invitation to argue, but, with a curt “Good-night,” went below, while in his ears rang the cruel, mocking laugh of the Greek, as he repeated rapidly in a singing tone the name of his mistress,—
“Helena, Helena, Helena!”
CHAPTER XV.
THE STORM.
Dark storm-clouds spread from pole to pole,
The lightnings flash, the thunders roll,
And lo, the sea, in mountains high,
With giant billows storms the sky,
While all the vast disturbèd main
Is veiled in whirling mist and rain.
Betwixt the flying scud and spume,