ers of the
hawthorn. The pretty and the beautiful reigned side by side; the
magnificent and the graceful, the great and the little, had each their
place. No note in the great concert of nature was lost. Green
microscopic beauties took their place in the vast universal plan in
which all seemed distinguishable as in limpid water. Everywhere a divine
fulness, a mysterious sense of expansion, suggested the unseen effort of
the sap in movement. Guttering things glittered more than ever; loving
natures became more tender. There was a hymn in the flowers, and a
radiance in the sounds of the air. The wide-diffused harmony of nature
burst forth on every side. All things which felt the dawn of life
invited others to put forth shoots. A movement coming from below, and
also from above, stirred vaguely all hearts susceptible to the scattered
and subterranean influence of germination. The flower shadowed forth the
fruit; young maidens dreamed of love. It was nature's universal bridal.
It was fine, bright, and warm; through the hedges in the meadows
children were seen laughing and playing at their games. The fruit-trees
filled the orchards with their heaps of white and pink blossom. In the
fields were primroses, cowslips, milfoil, daffodils, daisies, speedwell,
jacinths, and violets. Blue borage and yellow irises swarmed with those
beautiful little pink stars which flower always in groups, and are
hence called "companions." Creatures with golden scales glided between
the stones. The flowering houseleek covered the thatched roofs with
purple patches. Women were plaiting hives in the open air; and the bees
were abroad, mingling their humming with the murmurs from the sea.
Nature, sensitive to the touch of spring, exhaled delight.

When Gilliatt arrived at St. Sampson, the water had not yet risen at the
further end of the harbour, and he was able to cross it dry-footed
unperceived behind the hulls of vessels fixed for repair. A number of
flat stones were placed there at regular distances to make a causeway.

He was not observed. The crowd was at the other end of the port, near
the narrow entrance, by the Bravees. There his name was in every mouth.
They were, in fact, speaking about him so much that none paid attention
to him. He passed, sheltered in some degree by the very commotion that
he had caused.

He saw from afar the sloop in the place where he had moored it, with the
funnel standing between its four chains; observed a movement