All the
brightness of the day had gone for both of us by this time. The tide was
now far out. Its moaning was only a distant murmur. The shore was a
stretch of jagged black rocks covered with sea-weed.
SIXTY-SEVENTH CHAPTER
Notwithstanding Martin's tenderness I had a vague fear that he had only
pretended to submit to my will, and before the day was over I had proof
of it.
During dinner we spoke very little, and after it was over we went out to
the balcony to sit on a big oak seat which stood there.
It was another soft and soundless night, without stars, very dark, and
with an empty echoing air, which seemed to say that thunder was not far
off, for the churning of the nightjar vibrated from the glen, and the
distant roar of the tide, now rising, was like the rumble of drums at a
soldier's funeral.
Just as we sat down the pleasure-steamer we had seen in the morning
re-crossed our breadth of sea on its way back to Blackwater; and lit up
on deck and in all its port-holes, it looked like a floating _cafe
chantant_ full of happy people, for they were singing in chorus a rugged
song which Martin and I had known all our lives--
_Ramsey town, Ramsey town, smiling by the sea,
Here's a health to my true love, wheresoe'er she be_.
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