"I used to sing it in Sunday-school," Bettina explained.
"So did I," and these simple sentences, in their uplifted mood, seemed fraught with great meaning.
They were beyond the harbor now. Ahead of them and to the right was the open sea; to the left, the town, with its church steeples like pin points beneath them, its most imposing buildings no bigger than mushrooms.
"Are we so very high?"
"Not so high, perhaps, as it seems to you. It is perfectly safe."
On and on they went, leaving the lighthouse behind them, leaving behind them the harbor and the town, passing, finally, the great forest through which they had raced in the rain.
Then Justin had asked, "Do you remember?"
And Bettina had answered, "Shall I ever forget?"
The gulls circled below them, uttering mewing cries. It was as if they protested against the intrusion of this bird man and bird woman in a realm which had belonged to winged things since the world began.
They came presently to a long and lonely stretch of beach, above which Justin sailed, low, and, relaxing his vigilance for the first time, he began his eager wooing—all fire and rapture.