"Yes," he said. "And it is not only the force of contrast. Its gloomy surroundings really do make it more beautiful."
"Yes," said Mona relentlessly; "but it is not what Nature meant it to be."
"True," he replied. "Yet who would wish it transplanted!"
Presently he turned away, and looked over the rough blue sea.
"This place depresses me unspeakably," he said. "It reminds me of a book of 'martyr stories' I had when I was a child. I have a mental picture now of a family sitting round a blazing fire, and saying in awestruck whispers, 'It's no' sae cheery as this the nicht i' the sea tower by St Rules.' What appalling ideas of history they give us when we are children!" And he added half absently—
"'Sitzt das kleine Menschenkind
An dem Ocean der Zeit,
Schöpft mit seiner kleinen Hand
Tropfen aus der Ewigkeit.'"
Mona looked up with sparkling eyes and made answer—
"'Schöpfte nicht das kleine Menschenkind
Tropfen aus dem Ocean der Zeit,
Was geschieht verwehte wie der Wind
In den Abgrund öder Ewigkeit.'"
"Go on, go on," she said, regardless of his unconcealed surprise, "the best thought comes last." So he took up the strain again:—
"'Tropfen aus dem Ocean der Zeit
Schöpft das Mennchenkind mit kleiner Hand.
Spiegelt doch, dem Lichte zugewandt,
Sich darin die ganze Ewigkeit.'"