With a sense of aloofness, of absolute separation, from all that he had ever known, he gazed about him. The words,
"Look'd at each other with a wild surmise.
Silent, upon a peak in Darien,"
"The brig was sliding down the seas like a boy let loose from school"
flashed through his mind: the perfect poem seemed strangely interpretative of his mood. Then his gaze came back from the notched and leaping horizon to the silent figure of Hetty, and, with the lifting spirit of a mind released from the oppression of a strange and portentous solitude, he clumsily made his way to her side, glad for companionship.
She looked up brightly.
"Oh," she said, "I was wishing for some one to enjoy it with. I tried to get my mother, but she would not come up. She said she could feel it; that was enough for her. I hope it is not enough for you."
"No," he answered; "there is more in seeing it: it is strange and overwhelming. I am inland-bred, you know: I feel as if all known things had passed away."