gness. The last vanished; the pool showed me the
motionless shadow of my face again, on which I pondered, till I
suddenly became aware of a slow, internal oscillation, which increased
till I felt in a strange tumult. I put my hand in the pool and
troubled its surface.

"Hail, Cassandra! Hail!"

I sprang up the highest rock on the point, and looked seaward, to
catch a glimpse of the flying Spirit who had touched me. My soul was
brought in poise and quickened with the beauty before me! The wide,
shimmering plain of sea--its aerial blue, stretching beyond the
limits of my vision in one direction, upbearing transverse, cloud-like
islands in another, varied and shadowed by shore and sky--mingled its
essence with mine.

The wind was coming; under the far horizon the mass of waters begun to
undulate. Dark, spear-like clouds rose above it and menaced the east.
The speedy wind tossed and teased the sea nearer and nearer, till I
was surrounded by a gulf of milky green foam. As the tide rolled in
I retreated, stepping back from rock to rock, round which the waves
curled and hissed, baffled in their attempt to climb over me. I
stopped on the verge of the tide-mark; the sea was seeking me and I
must wait. It gave tongue as its lips touched my feet, roaring in the
caves, falling on the level beaches with a mad, boundless joy!

"Have then at life!" my senses cried. "We will possess its longing
silence, rifle its waiting beauty. We will rise up in its light
and warmth, and cry, 'Come, for we wait.' Its roar, its beauty, its
madness--we will have--_all_." I turned and walked swiftly homeward,
treading the ridges of white sand, the black drifts of sea-weed, as if
they had been a smooth floor.

Aunt Merce was at the door.

"Now," she said, "we are going to have the long May storm. The gulls
are flying round the lighthouse. How high the tide is! You must want
your dinner. I wish you _would_ see to Fanny; she is lording it over
us all."

"Yes, yes, I will do it; you may depend on me. I will reign, and serve
also."

"Oh, Cassandra, _can_ you give up _yourself?_"

"I must, I suppose. Confound the spray; it is flying against the
windows."

"Come in; your hair is wet, and your shawl is wringing. Now for a
cold."

"I never shall have any more colds, Aunt Merce; never mean to have
anything to myself--entirely, you know."

"You do me good, you dear girl; I love you"; and she began to cry.
"There's nothing but cold ham and boiled