seals could depart on their mysterious journey
into the south at any time, now, for all we cared; and the storms held no
terror for us. Not only were we sure of being dry and warm and sheltered
from the wind, but we had the softest and most luxurious mattresses that
could be made from moss. This had been Maud's idea, and she had herself
jealously gathered all the moss. This was to be my first night on the
mattress, and I knew I should sleep the sweeter because she had made it.

As she rose to go she turned to me with the whimsical way she had, and
said:

"Something is going to happen--is happening, for that matter. I feel it.
Something is coming here, to us. It is coming now. I don't know what,
but it is coming."

"Good or bad?" I asked.

She shook her head. "I don't know, but it is there, somewhere."

She pointed in the direction of the sea and wind.

"It's a lee shore," I laughed, "and I am sure I'd rather be here than
arriving, a night like this."

"You are not frightened?" I asked, as I stepped to open the door for her.

Her eyes looked bravely into mine.

"And you feel well? perfectly well?"

"Never better," was her answer.

We talked a little longer before she went.

"Good-night, Maud," I said.

"Good-night, Humphrey," she said.

This use of our given names had come about quite as a matter of course,
and was as unpremeditated as it was natural. In that moment I could have
put my arms around her and drawn her to me. I should certainly have done
so out in that world to which we belonged. As it was, the situation
stopped there in the only way it could; but I was left alone in my little
hut, glowing warmly through and through with a pleasant satisfaction; and
I knew that a tie, or a tacit something, existed between us which had not
existed before.

CHAPTER XXXII

I awoke, oppressed by a mysterious sensation. There seemed something
missing in my environment. But the mystery and oppressiveness vanished
after the first few seconds of waking, when I identified the missing
something as the wind. I had fallen asleep in that state of nerve
tension with which one meets the continuous shock of sound or movement,
and I had awakened, still tense, bracing myself to meet the pressure of
something which no longer bore upon me.

It was the first night I had spent under cover in several months, and I
lay luxuriously for some minutes under my blankets (for once not wet with
fog or spray), an