scarcely see one another's faces. As yet
they felt no wind. The dense weight of mist choked the keen, impelling
air.

"I think the weather is breaking; we are going to have a storm," said
Beatrice, a little anxiously.

Scarcely were the words out of her mouth when the mist passed away from
them, and from all the seaward expanse of ocean. Not a wrack of it was
left, and in its place the strong sea-breath beat upon their faces. Far
in the west the angry disc of the sun was sinking into the foam. A great
red ray shot from its bent edge and lay upon the awakened waters, like a
path of fire. The ominous light fell full upon the little boat and full
upon Beatrice's lips. Then it passed on and lost itself in the deep
mists which still swathed the coast.

"Oh, how beautiful it is!" she cried, raising herself and pointing to
the glory of the dying sun.

"It is beautiful indeed!" he answered, but he looked, not at the sunset,
but at the woman's face before him, glowing like a saint's in its golden
aureole. For this also was most beautiful--so beautiful that it stirred
him strangely.

"It is like----" she began, and broke off suddenly.

"What is it like?" he asked.

"It is like finding truth at last," she answered, speaking as much to
herself as to him. "Why, one might make an allegory out of it. We wander
in mist and darkness shaping a vague course for home. And then suddenly
the mists are blown away, glory fills the air, and there is no more
doubt, only before us is a splendour making all things clear and
lighting us over a deathless sea. It sounds rather too grand," she
added, with a charming little laugh; "but there is something in it
somewhere, if only I could express myself. Oh, look!"

As she spoke a heavy storm-cloud rolled over the vanishing rim of the
sun. For a moment the light struggled with the eclipsing cloud, turning
its dull edge to the hue of copper, but the cloud was too strong and the
light vanished, leaving the sea in darkness.

"Well," he said, "your allegory would have a dismal end if you worked it
out. It is getting as dark as pitch, and there's a good deal in _that_,
if only _I_ could express myself."

Beatrice dropped poetry, and came down to facts in a way that was very
commendable.

"There is a squall coming up, Mr. Bingham," she said; "you must paddle
as hard as you can. I do not think we are more than two miles from
Bryngelly, and if we are lucky we may get there before the weather
break