"I thought, by the deep mourning, it must be."
"Is it deep? I suppose it looks so. I should not wish it otherwise in the present instance, for the good old man has been generous to me."
They fell into silence, each feeling the rapture of the other's presence, after the prolonged separation, as something more than human. So intense was it that Ellen, at least, might have been content to die in it there and then. The sea changed its beautiful colours, the sky seemed to smile on them, the children played overhead, a silvery flute from some unseen boat in the distance was softly playing. No: Eden could never have been sweeter than this.
"What have you been doing, all this time by yourself at Eastsea?" he at length asked her.
"Very much what I am doing now, I think--sitting here to watch the sea," she answered. "There has been nothing else to do. It was always dull."
"Has Mrs. Cumberland had any visitors?"
"Dr. Rane has been here twice. He gives a bad account of things at Dallory. The strike shows no signs of coming to an end; and the men are in want."
"So Dick says. I get a letter from him sometimes."
A great amount of talking, this. The tide turned; a big steamer went by in the distance.
"Do you hear that, Ellen?"