CHAPTER VIII.
BELIEF IN THE IMPOSSIBLE.
Caius clambered up the cliff and over the fence to the highroad. A man
with a cartload of corn was coming past. Caius looked at him and his
horse, and at the familiar stretch of road. It was a relief so to look.
On a small green hillock by the roadside thistles grew thickly; they
were in flower and seed at once, and in the sunshine the white down,
purple flowers, and silver-green leaves glistened--a little picture,
perfect in itself, of graceful lines and exquisite colour, having for
its background the hedge of stunted fir that bordered the other side of
the road. Caius feasted his eyes for a minute and then turned homeward,
walking for awhile beside the cart and talking to the carter, just to be
sure that there was nothing wild or strange about himself to attract the
man's attention. The cart raised no dust in the red clay of the road;
the monotonous creak of its wheels and the dull conversation of its
owner were delightful to Caius because they were so real and
commonplace.
Caius felt very guilty. He could not excuse himself to himself for the
fact that he had not only seen so wild a vision but now felt the
greatest reluctance to make known his strange adventure to anyone. He
could not precisely determine why this reluctance was guilty on his
part, but he had a feeling that, although a sensible man could not be
much blamed for seeing a mermaid if he did see one, such a man would
rouse the neighbourhood, and take no rest till the phenomenon was
investigated; or, if that proved impossible, till the subject was at
least thoroughly ventilated.
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