'twas a dream of thee!'

"you must not smile. I meant it; for if the ocean smiles and whispers and
makes men dream of--"

"Oh-h!" her head had settled and now her cheek was against mine. "Go
on," she said softly.

"It made me dream of her that was never more than a dream-woman until I
saw you. No longer a dream--not after you stepped out onto the veranda
of the Governor's house that night in Momba. I knew it again when,
looking out from the shrubbery in the garden, you looked at me and said,
'And who is this?' And I knew it when with you in the long-boat, when I
wanted to reach out and take your hand--"

"And why didn't you? I knew you were weak from your wound, and it would
have been a charity in me to cheer you up."

"Divine charity--but I was not weak--not from any wound. I had not the
courage. A sailor may shape his course by a star, but that does not mean
that he ever thinks of reaching up and trying to grasp it."

"And you've heard the sea whisper, too, Guy?"

"Many a time. In the night mostly--in the mid-watch, when it's quietest.
I've leant over the rail and heard it whisper up to me. People laugh at
that, but they know nothing of the sea. And the day, or the night, comes
to some men, when she whispers up to him and beckons with her wide arms
and on her deep bosom offers to pillow him, and weary of the
wrong-doing, mostly it's wrong-doing, or despair, when men hear