Graham looked at him. ‘Doesn’t it seem as if we were quite out of the world here, Harold? We shall never be more alone together than we are now. I can hardly remember when we came.... Do you think we shall ever go back?’
‘Perhaps the sea round Ireland is haunted, like the sea of the Ancient Mariner.’
‘And the sea across which Odysseus sailed. Surely almost every place is haunted by this time. If we rowed on a little further we might come to Circé’s Island, or to the land of the Lotus-eaters, or to the home of Nausicaa.’
And even while he spoke they seemed to drift into a stiller air—or was it his fancy? His thoughts seemed to be borne into his mind from somewhere far away, and the faint lapping of the water against the boat recalled to him his dream.
‘Last night I went back there, Harold—I found the old way.... Shall I tell you?... You remember the curious dream that filled up so much of my life here.... I think it must be beginning to open out again.’
‘You mean about the boy whom you used to fancy as being in some way connected with me?’
Graham met his eyes. ‘Are you quite sure he wasn’t?’ he asked softly. ‘You must tell me, because just now, somehow, I am not quite certain myself.’
‘What has changed you, then? You used, you know, to be sufficiently sure.... Do you remember the day I found you out in the fields?’
‘The day you came to me?... You came when I called.’
‘Well, you were very certain then, weren’t you?’ He laughed a little at the other boy’s gravity.