with its crown of braids. She leaned over the boat-side, and trailed her hand in the water, nor spoke a word, nor once lifted her eyes. As the water-lily, growing to maturity through unconscious sun and dew, when its appointed sunrise comes, shines through all its snowy petals, and opens to disclose another sun hidden within its folded whiteness, so her soul, now its time was come to know itself and be known, stirred through all its calm reserves and unconsciousness at the sound of that savage chant. She forgot, for the time, all that was cramping in her life, and had a new sense of freedom and joy.
The song ceased. They neared the Point, and a path of crimson trembled out from the camp-fire there and crossed the moonlight. Clara leaned, and whispered to Carl. He hesitated a moment, then, with a gesture that showed a sort of defiant resolution, acquiesced in her demand. Carl seldom sang, and, when he did, it was for the words rather than the music, and his style was that of an improvisator. He sang:
“The moon is climbing up the sky,
Back rolls the ether blue.
The folded roses stir and sigh,
With droppings of the dew;
The tide runs up to meet the stream,
And bear her to the sea:
Downward, as in a happy dream,
They’re floating silently.
“The slumb’ring deeps of life upbreak,
Our childish play is o’er.
The footsteps of the future shake
The lintel of our door!
Awake, sweetheart! thou giv’st to-day
A soul, and not a toy:
Wake! lest the child’s hand fling away
The woman’s crowning joy.
“Cast off the dreams of childish days,
Take on thy woman’s state.
Search thine own spirit’s deeper ways,
Ere yet it be too late.
The time is come for thee to give—
The time for me to take:
Lift up thy lids, and bid me live!
O woman’s soul, awake!”
Slowly Edith lifted her drooping head, her heavy eyelids, and looked at Carl, and he looked at her. The full moon shone in their faces, and they saw only each other, and were conscious only of each other. The lily had bloomed.
Some sharp sound, like breath drawn through teeth, was heard, and Melicent cried out, “Mr. Rowan!”
They looked just in time to see Dick’s white face as he staggered backward. His eyes closed, and, before they could reach him, he fell over the boat-side, with a heavy splash, and sank.
Captain Cary threw off his coat, and was overboard in a second, and soon they saw him bearing up a pallid face on his arm. “Haul in sail, and row ashore!” he called out, and himself struck out for the Point, which they were close upon.
Philip Nicola met him there, and the other men came down, and, when the party had stepped on shore, Dick was in one of the tents. Captain Cary came out to meet them. “He has come to,” he said, “and will soon be all right. But you had better go home. I will stay and take care of him. He doesn’t wish to go up now.”