that, and more—and you ask me if I like a storm at sea!”

[98]

[99]

She stood very still for a few seconds, and then took his arm again.

“Let us go home,” she said, drooping a little as the wind met them once more. “I am so tired.”

He sheltered her all he could against the fury of the gale, and presently they [100]were able to seek the shelter of the pine wood as they neared the Castle. Monica’s face was very pale, and he looked at her with a gentle concern that somehow in no wise offended her.

[100]

“You are very tired,” he said, compassionately. “The walk has been too much for you.”

“Not the walk exactly,” answered Monica, with a little falter in her voice; “it was the music and the storm together, I think. I am glad we sung the hymn for those at sea to-night.”

He looked down at her earnestly.

“And yet the sea is your best friend, Lady Monica. You have told me so yourself.” She looked at him with strange, wistful intensity.

“Yes, it is, it is,” she answered; “my [101]best and earliest friend; and yet—and yet——”

[101]

She paused, falling into a deep reverie; he roused her by a question:

“Yet what, Lady Monica?”

Again that quick, strange glance.

“Do you believe in presentiments?”

“I am not sure that I do.”

“Ah! then you cannot be a true Trevlyn. We Trevlyns have a strange forecasting power. Coming events cast their shadow over us, and we feel it—we feel it!”

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