A Dream of the North Sea | Page 2

ALEXANDER GORDON.

CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
I. THE DREAMER II. THE BREEZE III. THE SECOND GALE IV. A
NEAR THING V. AFTER THE STORMS VI. THE MISSION HALL
BOOK II.
I. JANUARY IN THE NORTH SEA II. A CRUCIAL TEST III. THE
PLOTTER IV. THE DENOUEMENT
APPENDIX A
APPENDIX B
* * * * *

BOOK I.

CHAPTER I.
THE DREAMER.
So many of my dreams have come true, that I sometimes incline to
believe that dreams are in reality the only truths. I fancy this dream, at
any rate, will be fulfilled.
* * * * *
A hard gale rushed over a torn sea, and the drift was swept so that the
moon was obscured with every fresh gust. High overhead a clear, steely
sky was flecked here and there with fleecy white, and, ever and again,
the moon slipped her mantle of cloud from her rounded shoulder, and
looked around her with large, calm glances. But there was an
evil-looking sky away to the eastward, and the black wreaths 'of cloud
crept steadily upward, obscuring little by little the fair, glittering sky.
The swift waves gathered volume, and soon their hollows were like
great Panpipes through which the gale blew with many doleful sounds.
Everything to be seen on sea or sky promised a wild night, and the
powerful schooner yacht which was charging along over the running
seas was already reefed down closely. Light bursts of spray came
aboard aft like flying whip-lashes, and the man at the wheel stolidly
shook his head as the jets cut him. Right forward a slight sea sometimes
came over with a crash, but the vessel was in no trouble, and she
looked as if she could hold her own in a much worse breeze. I believe
that only poets and landsmen are fond of bad weather; and the
steersman occasionally threw a demure, quizzical glance at a young girl
who was hanging on by one hand to the companion hatch. The wind
had heightened her colour, and the chance gleams of the moon showed
the girl's face as a flash of warm brightness in the chill dreariness of the
night. It was a strange place and strange weather for a young lady to be
out in, for the autumn was far advanced, and the deadly gales might be
expected at any time; but this young person was in no way
discomposed. There was something almost weird in the sight of that

glowing young face, placid amid the fitful drifts; the screaming gusts
caught at tiny stray curls of her dark hair; the vessel advanced with
short plunges, and the flashing broad stream went past with that eerie
moan which always makes me think of dire things. The girl looked
quietly forward, and it seemed as if her spirit was unmoved by the
tumult. She looked almost stern, for her broad brows were a little bent,
but her mouth was firm and kindly, and her very impassivity gave sign
of even temper. I do not like the miniature style of portrait-painting, so
I shall not catalogue the features of this girl in the orthodox fashion.
She would have drawn your eye in any crowd, for she had that look of
slight abstraction which always marks those who are used at intervals
to forget material things; and the composed mouth and rather square
chin hinted at a certain capacity for practical affairs. The storm stirred
her blood, and she murmured at last, "Terrors take hold on him as
waters; a tempest stealeth him away in the night. The east wind carrieth
him away, and he departeth; and as a storm hurleth him out of his
place."
I would have ventured to tell you a good deal about that young lady's
character, had I never heard her speak another word. The association,
the choice of words, the sombre music of the old English--all were
enough to show the bent of her mind.
At last she turned, and said, "When do you think we shall sight them?"
The man at the wheel shouted, "Somewheres towards midnight, Miss.
We're a-goin' through it middling smart, and we can always draw on
them."
Then the girl went below into the warm glow of the saloon. A
sweet-faced lady smiled softly, and said, "Is it poetry to-night, or a new
scheme for regenerating everything?" The tone was caressing and
half-admiring, and the younger lady's still smile in reply was like a
revelation; it showed that she accepted banter, but was too serious to
return it. Marion Dearsley and her aunt, Mrs. Walton, understood each
other: the matron pretended to laugh at her niece's gravity, but the
genuine relation between the pair was that of profound mutual
confidence and fondness.

The soft gleam of the lamps showed a very pleasant