“Do you think he is handsome?”
“Yes.”
“He is too short” (Barclay was tall), “and his eyes have a wandering, unsettled look.”
“He is following his destiny by them,” she answered, bitterly. “I wish that I could follow mine as a man can.”
“Do you mean that you would like to follow Osgood’s eyes?”
“By no means; I must see destiny by your eyes.”
The words were pleasant, but the tone was malicious. It made his heart bound as if an invisible foe had come into his atmosphere to do battle with him, and he could do nothing.
“‘With the vapors all around, and the breakers on our lee,
Not a light is in the sky, not a light is on the sea.’—
barring the lantern abaft,” roared Osgood, from the deck of the schooner Bonita, which was tossing outside Cape Malabar.