He had a feeling, too, born,
as many calculations are, of pure surmise, that he would have seen the
mermaid again that afternoon, when he had made such elaborate
arrangements to meet her, if Fate had destined them to meet again at
all. No; he must give her up. He must forget the hallucination that had
worked so madly on his brain.
Nevertheless, he did not deny himself the pleasure of walking very
frequently to the spot, and this often, in the early hours before
breakfast, a time which he could dispose of as he would without comment.
As he walked the beach in the beauty of the early day, he realized that
some new region of life had been opened to him, that he was feeling his
way into new mysteries of beatified thought and feeling.
A week passed; he was again upon the shore opposite the island at the
sunrise hour. He sat on the rock which seemed like a home to his
restless spirit, so associated it was with the first thoughts of those
new visions of beauty which were becoming dear to him.
He heard a soft splashing sound in the water, and, looking about him,
suddenly saw the sea-child's face lifted out of the water not more than
four or five yards from him. All around her was a golden cloud of sand;
it seemed to have been stirred up by her startled movement on seeing
him. For a moment she was still, resting thus close, and he could see
distinctly that around her white shoulders there was a coil of what
seemed like glistening rounded scales.
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