But its story was not told.
February came, and with it a February thaw; the ice stirred a little,
and the breeze coming over the floes was singularly mild. The arctic
winds and the airs from the Gulf Stream had met and mingled, and the
gray fog appeared again, waving to and fro. 'Spring has come,' said
Silver; 'there is the dear fog.' And she opened the window of the
flower room, and let out a little bird.
'It will find no resting-place for the sole of its foot, for the snow
is over the face of the whole earth,' said Waring. 'Our ark has kept
us cosily through bitter weather, has it not, little one?' (He had
adopted a way of calling her so.)
'Ark,' said Silver; 'what is that?'
'Well,' answered Waring, looking down into her blue eyes as they stood
together at the little window, 'it was a watery residence like this,
and if Japheth,--he was always my favorite of the three--had had you
there, my opinion is that he would never have come down at all, but
would have resided permanently on Ararat.'
Silver looked up into his face with a smile, not understanding what he
said, nor asking to understand; it was enough for her that he was
there. And as she gazed her violet eyes grew so deep, so soft, that
the man for once (give him credit, it was the first time) took her
into his arms.
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