Poor little solitary maiden-heart!
Spring was near now; soft airs came over the ice daily, and stirred
the water beneath; then the old man spoke. He knew what was coming, he
saw it all, and a sword was piercing his heart; but bravely he played
his part. 'The ice will move out soon, in a month or less you can sail
safely,' he said, breaking the silence one night when they two sat by
the fire, Waring moody and restless, for Silver had openly repulsed
him, and fled away early in the evening. 'She is trifling with me,' he
thought, 'or else she does not know what love is. By heavens, I will
teach her though--' As far as this his mind had journeyed when Fog
spoke. 'In a month you can sail safely, and I suppose you will go for
good this time?'
'Yes.'
Fog waited. Waring kicked a fallen log into place, lit his pipe then
let it go out, moved his chair forward, then pushed it back
impatiently, and finally spoke. 'Of course I shall take Silver; I
intend to make Silver.'
'At last?'
'At last. No wonder you are glad--'
'Glad,' said Fog,--'glad!' But the words were whispered, and the young
man went on unheeding.
'Of course it is a great thing for you to have the child off your
hands and placed in a home so high above your expectations.
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