m me--as you
can not to-day, dear, for, see, I have got you close--and why your large
eyes looked so wild and strange that I half thought you mad? Did you
take me for a ghost?"

"No; but I had just seen what is far worse than any ghost. Did you not
mark how pale I got that same night? I thought I should have fainted
when I was asked" (it was Solomon who had put the question, but
Solomon's name was never mentioned between these two young people) "if I
had ever seen a spectre ship. I had seen one that very day--only a few
minutes before I met _you_--and on this very cliff."

"Well, and what then?" said Richard, smiling. "Neither your father, nor
any one in whom you have an interest, goes to sea. The Flying Dutchman
did not concern you, I reckon, even if he did pay you a call."

"You do not understand," said Harry, seriously; "it was not that at all.
But when the mists rise over Turlock sands, as they did that day, a
black, square-rigged vessel glides across them, which bodes ill to those
who see her; and _I_ saw her as plain as I see _you_."

"But not so near," said Richard, fondly.

"She was coming from Turlock to the quarry yonder--"

"To fetch slates," interrupted the other--"nothing more likely."

"Nay, not she; no craft would have attempted that in such weather; and,
besides, there was not a soul on board of her. She was sailing against
what little wind there was, and against the tide."

"But even if this was so, Harry, what of it? What harm has come of it?"

"Nothing as yet; nor was I greatly frightened at the time. That omen
bodes unhappiness to him or her who sees it, and I was already unhappy."

"Because I was not here to comfort you, Harry. Well, that is remedied."

She shook her head, and did not return the reassuring pressure of his
hand. "Listen!" she said. "This misery comes through the person whom he
who has seen the vision shall next meet; and I thought I knew who I
should meet on my way home--one from whom"--she sank her voice to a
whisper--"I already expected misery."

"You mean--" began Richard, eagerly.

"No matter whom I mean. It was not he who met me; that was _you_."

The hand which he held in his was cold as ice; her face was pale; and
her limbs trembled under her.

"This is folly, Harry dear. Am I likely to do you harm, to make you
miserable?"

"I do not know," said she. "I sometimes think you are."

He put the long hair back from her forehead, and gazed into her eyes,
which we