In these first weeks one hope was always before his eyes. In every new
house which he entered, at every turn of the roads, which began to be
familiar to him, he hoped to see the maiden who had followed him upon
the beach. He dreamed of her by night; he not only hoped, he expected to
see her each day. It was of course conceivable that she might have
returned to some other island of the group; but Caius did not believe
this, because he felt convinced she must be under the protection of his
friends; and also, since he had arrived the weather had been such that
it would have been an event known to all the fishermen if another party
had made a journey along the sands. When the snow came the sands were
impassable. As soon as the ice on the bay would bear, there would be
coming and going, no doubt; but until then Caius had the restful
security that she was near him, and that it could not be many days
before he saw her. The only flaw in his conclusion was that the fact did
not bear it out; he did not see her.
At length it became clear that the maiden was hiding herself. Caius
ceased to hope that he would meet her by chance, because he knew he
would already have done so if it were not willed otherwise. Then his
mind grew restless again, and impatient; he could not even imagine where
she could lie hidden, or what possible reason there could be for a life
of uncomfortable concealment.
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