"But, Miss Naylor, the storm will be on directly. Observe how dim it grows. You will get drenched with rain."
"I don't think it will rain till evening."
"Indeed it will. See how the clouds are coming up! Hear to the rumbling thunder!"
"I am not afraid. But if you think otherwise, I should not like to spoil your pleasure with the prospect of a wetting. Good-bye. You can tell them to expect me shortly." And she skipped away.
There was nothing for Peter but to follow, little as he could expect his presence to be welcome when they should come on that rival at the bottom of the hill. He hated the fellow, of course, and wished him "far enough," but he could not help feeling curious to see him. Yet he followed without alacrity. For the sake of argument, he had spoken of the light as growing dim; now he felt it to be so indeed. The warmth and brightness had gone out of the day for him, and it was become a common thing. Not that he would have said so. The poet's trick of drawing voices from inanimate nature to express or sympathise with his momentary emotions was none of his. He was matter-of-fact and common-sensical to a degree, if at the same time lucid-minded and intelligent: but still he was human like the rest of us; and for that matter so is the poet, "fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases." If he were not, what would his utterances be worth? His gift is utterance, but the thing he utters must be within the possibility of all to feel. And Peter felt, though the influence had stolen on him unawares. He had been in Margaret's company through successive hours, and she was a flower too fresh and sweet for any insect to have fluttered round so long without becoming intoxicated somewhat with the fragrance.
At the bottom of the hill, behind an intervening rock, they came upon a sandy beach, the extremity of a bar which runs across to the nearest island, connecting the two at low water, and forming the only landing-place other than that of which the steamer had possession. The boatmen were securing their craft as the two came in view. One of them with a shout sprang forward and bounded up the steep to meet them. He seized both Margaret's hands and shook them rapturously; then, remembering that she had a companion, to be accepted as a necessary evil, he turned round to Peter, raised his hat, and ceremoniously wished him good-day.
Peter returned the salute, and looked curiously in the other's face to divine what manner of man this favoured one might be, if haply he might yet be dealt with, outmanœuvred, or supplanted, and recognised with astonishment that it was "that" young Blount who had spent a few days at Clam Beach. His feelings expressed themselves in a low, scarce audible whistle; and circumstances, looks, tones, details from the week before, so trivial that he had not been conscious of remembering them, sprang suddenly into knowledge and arranged themselves; as when a thread is dropped into a chemical solution, crystals gather from the fluid, and shape themselves with mathematical precision round the nucleus. The circumstances strung themselves in an induction amounting to demonstration, that Margaret Naylor had bestowed her regards, and that he had come too late into the field.
The young people were assiduously polite to Mr Peter. They did not wish that unkind rumours of their meeting should circulate in the hotel, and they would not request him to keep a secret for them--their feelings would not permit them to do that--so both endeavoured to conciliate his goodwill. They did what they could to include him in their conversation; but he was inattentive, answering at random or not at all. The sudden revelation had confused him like a blow, and his thoughts kept wandering back to the details on which his induction was based, trying them and endeavouring to shake their consistency, wondering that he had not read the truth before, and pitying himself in what now seemed his disappointment.
His answers were made at random, but they did not observe it. They were feeding their eyes upon each other's faces, after a three days' separation, and they had no thought for anything but the delight of being together. How good it was! They babbled, scarcely knowing what they spoke of, and any observation which Peter chose to interject was perfectly good as conversation in their eyes, sitting there together on the shore, touching one another, looking shyly in each other's eyes, hearing each other's voices, and being happy. Peter lounged beside them on the ground, twisting his awkward limbs into uncouth knots, and feeling dull and flattened out, defeated and humbled, though nobody had done anything to him whatever.
And time and tide went on their wonted course, but no one of the three took notice of their passing.