"Father," said Miss Dodan, uncertainly, while she formed her hand into
an improvised tube, and looked through it on the peaceful scene at our
feet, "has been telling me of my birthplace in Devonshire. It must be
very beautiful, more beautiful than it is here. But there is no sea, and
it seems to me now that I should die without it; it is the very soul and
voice, too, of all this picture!" She spread out her arms, and half
willfully threw back the one nearest me, until it swept over my head,
and I caught and kissed the opened palm.
"Yes," I replied, "the sea relieves everything about or near it, from
the humiliation of commonness. The stamp of distinction rests on its
printless waves. It was the first surface of the earth, and its primal
regency has never been lost or forfeited;" a suspicion crossed my mind:
"How was it your father spoke of Devonshire. I never knew before that
you came from that pearl of the countries of England. Would you like to
see it?"
My voice half sank, and the hitherto unsuspected fact that Mr. Dodan had
observed my physical danger, and now was planning to interrupt his
daughter's intimacy and hallucination for a poor, failing man,
struggling with an impossible problem, and a mortal malady, seemed
suddenly understood by me. I turned to her a face of questioning
concern. Her eyes were still fixed upon the distant, pulsating sea.
"No," she answered, half nonchalantly. "I suppose not, and yet--why not!
I have only known this country; to cross the great ocean, to see the
capital of the world, to learn the great wonders of its palaces and
temples, to see its multitudes, to see the Queen.
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