It had been eleven o'clock when they had left the quay of St. Pharamond. It was dawn when they came in sight of the island; its grey olive-crowned side fused softly with the silvery dusk which preceded the sunrise. There was no sail in sight, except in the offing to the eastward some score of barques looking no larger than a flock of sea-swallows: they were those of a coral fleet.
'Is that your little kingdom?' asked Othmar, looking towards the cloudlike isle which seemed to float between the sea and sky. 'Well, it must be a charming life all alone there amidst the waters, far away from the world and all its fret and fume. You must be happy there?'
'Oh yes,' she answered rather doubtfully, without the spontaneous whole-heartedness which had characterised her replies to Loswa. 'But, you see—there is a good deal of the fret and the fume—because we trade with the mainland, and when prices are bad my grandfather is out of temper. It is not like Fénelon's island at all.'
'Even if not, be sure it is happier to be on it than amidst the world,' said Othmar, anxious to undo what his wife and her friends had done. 'The pastoral life is the best there is, and when it is joined to the liberty of a seafaring life, it seems to me to be perfect.
'I believe, at least I know,' he continued with some hesitation, 'that my wife spoke to you of your talents, and of all they might do for you in that bigger world which is to you only "the mainland." Perhaps they might do much, perhaps they might do nothing; that world is very capricious, and its rewards are not always just. Poets are charming companions, but they are not infallible guides. Fate has given you a safe home, a tranquil lot, a sure provision. Do not tempt fortune to desert you by showing it any ingratitude. I fear my words seem very cold and dull ones after the gorgeous flatteries you have heard, but they at least are wise as I see wisdom for you; and, believe me, they are well meant.'
He spoke with earnestness as the boat approached the island, and, with the sail lowered, drifted lightly before the wind towards the beach.
'Will you tell your grandfather?' asked Othmar, as they neared the isle.
'Do you think that I ought?' she said in a very low voice, in which was an unspoken supplication.
'I think you ought,' he answered. 'Do not begin your life with a secret.'