g us alive."

"Ah! He is the Master," said the old woman, "but I think it will be
His good pleasure to take us to Himself. Just look at that light down
there..." and she nodded her head as she spoke towards the sunset.

Streaks of fiery red glared from behind the masses of crimson-flushed
brown cloud that seemed about to unloose a furious gale. There was a
smothered murmur of the sea, a moaning sound that seemed to come from
the depths, a low warning growl, such as a dog gives when he only means
mischief as yet. After all, Ostend was not far away. Perhaps painting,
like poetry, could not prolong the existence of the picture presented by
sea and sky at that moment beyond the time of its actual duration. Art
demands vehement contrasts, wherefore artists usually seek out Nature's
most striking effects, doubtless because they despair of rendering the
great and glorious charm of her daily moods; yet the human soul is often
stirred as deeply by her calm as by her emotion, and by silence as by
storm.

For a moment no one spoke on board the boat. Every one watched that sea
and sky, either with some presentiment of danger, or because they felt
the influence of the religious melancholy that takes possession of
nearly all of us at the close of the day, the hour of prayer, when all
nature is hushed save for the voices of the bells. The sea gleamed pale
and wan, but its hues changed, and the surface took all the colors of
steel. The sky was almost overspread with livid gray, but down in the
west there were long narrow bars like streaks of blood; while lines of
bright light in the eastern sky, sharp and clean as if drawn by the tip
of a brush, were separated by folds of cloud, like the wrinkles on an
old man's brow. The whole scene made a background of ashen grays and
half-tints, in strong contrast to the bale-fires of the sunset. If
written language might borrow of spoken language some of the bold
figures of speech invented by the people, it might be said with the
soldier that "the weather has been routed," or, as the peasant would
say, "the sky glowered like an executioner." Suddenly a wind arose from
the quarter of the sunset, and the skipper, who never took his eyes off
the sea, saw the swell on the horizon line, and cried:

"Stop rowing!"

The sailors stopped immediately, and let their oars lie on the water.

"The skipper is right," said Thomas coolly. A great wave caught up the
boat, carried it high on its crest, only to