“No, no, little one,” answered the Baron, making an effort to smile, “but—”
“But what? Go on! What, father?”
“Only this, dearest. Art thou sure of being perfectly happy?”
“Entirely sure; but I could not be if Lovel should take me from thee.” She patted his cheek, then touched her blooming mouth to it.
“He will not come between us, child. Nothing on earth, nothing outside of heaven, can do that. But listen, what a fearful night! How the sea rises, like a fierce beast chained, roaring for its prey! The coast will show wrecks to-morrow.”
“And is it that which makes thee so uneasy, so sorry?”
“No; but the raging swell, which we hear here as a weak moaning, stirs strange thoughts and brings up strange scenes, vanished long ago. The sea has changing voices. Now as we listen, I hear great guns booming shot and shell, the rush of thousands of feet, the tramp of armies fighting. I loved it when I was a young man; but it is not the same, because I am not the same. Then it spoke to me of the future; now it is all of the past. As I hold your dear hand”—he touched the pinky finger-tips to his lips as he spoke—“I am hearing a text my mother taught me (God rest her soul!): “Boast not thyself of to-morrow.”
“But you have not boasted.”
“No; we seem over-confident, and there is a happiness that makes my soul afraid. Look out!”—he pointed to the window—“I thought I saw something pale, a tall shape fly by the window. There! Now!”
“You might have seen a pale shape half an hour ago in the dusk, where the sun left a little light. It is all black darkness now.” She rose, drew aside the curtain, and knelt on the deep window-sill among the roses. “I see nothing but dark. The wind howls like a mad thing in the air, trying locks and bolts to get in. Sad for the poor sailors and their wives waiting at home. Maybe they will never come back, poor things!”