s under all her canvas, for
the breeze was light, and skimmed over the water like a gull with its
wings spread. In the low light Madeira was nothing but a blot on the
sky-line. The crew were forward, with the solitary exception of the
man steering the vessel from his elevated position on the bridge; and
sitting as they were, abaft the deck-cabin, the two were utterly alone
between the great silence of the stars and of the sea. She looked into
his face, and it was tender towards her--that night was made for
lovers--and tears of happiness stood in her eyes. She took his hand in
hers, and her head nestled upon his breast.

"I should like to sail on for ever so, quite alone with you. I never
again wish to see the land or the sun, or any other sea than this, or
any other eyes than yours, to hear any more of the things that I have
known, to learn to know any fresh things. If I could choose, I would
ask that I might now glide gently from your arms into those of eternal
sleep. Oh! Arthur, I am so happy now--so happy that I scarcely dare to
speak, for fear lest I should break the spell, and I feel so good--so
much nearer heaven. When I think of all my past life, it seems like a
stupid dream full of little nothings, of which I cannot recall any
memory except that they were empty and without meaning. But the future
is worse than the past, because it looks fair, and snakes always hide
in flowers. It makes me afraid. How do I know what the future will
bring? I wish that the present--the pleasant, certain present that I
hold with my hand--could last for ever."

"Who does know, Mildred? If the human race could see the pleasant
surprises in store for it individually, I believe that it would drown
itself _en masse_. Who has not sometimes caught at the skirt of to-day
and cried, 'Stay a little--do not let to-morrow come yet!' You know
the lines--

"'O temps suspends ton vol, et vous heures propices
Suspendez votre cours,
Laissez nous savourer les rapides delices
Des plus beaux de nos jours.'

"Lamartine only crystallized a universal aspiration when he wrote
that."

"Oh! Arthur, I tell you of love and happiness wide as the great sea
round us, and you talk of 'universal aspirations.' It is the first
cold breath from that grey-skied future that I fear. Oh! dear, I
wonder--you do not know how I wonder--if, should you ask me again, I
shall ever with a clear conscience be able to say, 'Arthur, I wil