[221] thoughts, I knew, were with her old friend and playmate on the wild waters.“Julia,” said I, “ do you know that Robert Barnet loves you with all the strength of an honest and true heart?”
She trembled, and her voice faltered as she confessed that when Robert was at home he had asked her to become his wife.
“And, like a fool, you refused him, I suppose? —the brave, generous fellow!”
“O Doctor!” she exclaimed. “How can you talk so? It is just because Robert is so good, and noble, and generous, that I dared not take him at his word. You yourself, Doctor, would have despised me if I had taken advantage of his pity or his kind remembrance of the old days when we were children together. I have already brought too much disgrace upon those dear to me.”
I was endeavoring to convince her, in reply, that she was doing injustice to herself and wronging her best friend, whose happiness depended in a great measure upon her, when, borne on the strong blast, we both heard a faint cry as of a human being in distress. I threw up the window which opened seaward, and we leaned out into the wild night, listening breathlessly for a repetition of the sound.
Once more, and once only, we heard it,—a low, smothered, despairing cry.
“ Some one is lost, and perishing in the snow,” said Julia. “The sound comes in the direction of the beach plum-bushes on the side of the marsh. Let us go at once.”
