"I do not think I ever saw it so rough as this," said Ethel, as he took her hand in greeting, and then sat down beside her.
"I never saw it half as rough; never: but it has not been my privilege to live near the sea," he answered. "Are you sure it is safe for you to sit here, Ethel?"
"Oh yes. I am ever so far from the edge, you see."
"I do not know," he doubtingly answered; "the blast is strong. Mr. and Mrs. Castlemaine might warn you away, did they see you here."
As if to impart weight to his words, a furious gust came sweeping along and over them. Ethel caught involuntarily to the hard ground, and bent her head down. Mr. North hastily put his arm round her for protection.
"You see, Ethel!" he spoke when the rush had subsided. "It is dangerous for you. Had I not been here, you might have been blown away."
"No, no; but--perhaps--I should not have remained after that. I do not think it was ever so fiercely rough."
As he was there, however, and holding her securely, she made no movement to go. Ah, how could she! was it not all too delicious!--bliss unutterable!--and the wind was such an excuse. In after years, whether for her they might be long or short, Ethel would never lose the remembrance of this hour. The panorama of that turbulent sea would be one of her mind's standing pictures; the clasp of his arm never cease, when recalled, to cause her heart to thrill.
They sat on, close together, speaking but a stray word now and then, for it was nearly as difficult to hear anything said as it would have been for deaf Sister Mildred. By-and-by, as if the wind wanted a temporary rest, its worst fury seemed abated.
"I wonder if I could sketch the sea?" cried Mr. North. "Perhaps I could: if you will help me to hold the book, Ethel."