The Argosy — page 244: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A Story of the Sea-shore. 227 ‘¢ He is a good man, Serena, and your life with him will be peaceful and happy. Do you love him now, my child?” Serena paused. She was open and truthful by nature. ‘‘ Father, I don’t altogether know what is meant by ‘love.’ When Polly Dunn used to haunt the landing-place to watch the boats, tide in, tide out, for the sake of seeing Jim Atter, and crept about after him ashore like his shadow, and then threw herself into the sea and got nearly drowned because Jim chose another sweetheart, 1t was called love. People said she went mad for love. Well, I’d not follow Tom Reece if I were paid to doit; [’d not cave to, so I can’t have any love for him. I have told him I have not one bit.” A heavy frown contracted Moncton’s brow. ‘‘ You /o/d him that ?” “Of course I did. I told him I /zked him, and that was the most I could say. Oh, he was quite satisfied with that, I assure you; he said the love would come later—after we were married.” ** Ay, ay,” said Moncton, reassured : and he spake no further. Phoebe, their young serving girl, was bringing in the tray. As Serena sat down to make tea, her mind was busy. Love! she thought to herself, what was love? Could it be that there was something called love, beyond what she felt for Tom Reece? She did like him very well; she esteemed him for his good qualities, his kindli- ness and his honesty, though she did not like his plain manners and his rustic accent. Poor child! had she been allowed to read books of fiction, or to mix more with the girls of the village, the truth might have been plain to her, its signs clearer. Novels and romances are great helps in awaking the subtleties of the human heart. Tom Reece came in the next morning to talk with Moncton of the long-dreamed-of marriage. Serena heard her father propose the month of October, and then she ran out to the beach to be alone. The air of the house seemed suffocating ; strangely oppressing her. Leaping into a little boat that belonged to her father, she let it drift about with the incoming tide; but did not unfasten it. Sitting there, her face bent upon her hand, she fell into a reverie, gazing out on the quiet ocean. Such a dreamy, strange reverie, and though not twenty-four hours betrothed to the man who was to be her husband, he had no part whatever in her dreamings. She wondered again about the world which she had never seen; about the lands over the ocean, and the people who inhabited them; and then she fell to thinking of the handsome gentleman who had passed her last evening, and recalled his fine-featured face, with the fair hair tossed off his forehead in wavy curls. Just then she heard the splash of an oar; and, looking up ‘auiakly, she met the deep, blue eyes of the hero of her dreaming fixed full upon her face, as he shot by her in a light skiff. Once more that nameless thrill shook her whole frame—and with a strange tumult in heart and brain, she stepped on shore and hastened home. Tom CONNIClOO© SS (CO)