They
had flown from their little cells, and were holding court on the
storm-waves like fairies on the green. It was like them to love the
danger and the tumult and the night. It was like them to shout and
bound with the intoxication of the hour, to scream with the gale, and
to kiss with frantic rapture the waves that threatened them. Each was
a Thought mightier than any known to living man, and in the bosom of
maddened nature it had found its element. And they had not deserted
him--they had fled but for the hour--they had turned suddenly and were
holding out their arms to him. Ah! he would meet them half-way--
A pair of arms, strong with terror, were suddenly thrown about him,
and he was dragged to the other side of the gallery.
"Harold!" cried Weir; "what is the matter with you? Are you mad?"
"I believe I am," he cried. "Come to the light. I have something to
tell you."
He caught her by the wrists and pulled her down the gallery until they
were under the lantern which burned in one of the windows on nights
like this as a warning to mariners.
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