He turned, as he had always done, towards the little island and the Day
Farm.
How well he knew every outward curve and indentation of the soft red
shelving bank! how well he knew the colouring of the cool scene in the
rising day, the iridescent light upon the lapping waves, the glistening
of the jasper red of the damp beach, and the earthen pinks of the upper
cliffs! The sea birds with low pathetic note called out to him
concerning their memories of the first dawn in which he had walked there
searching for the body of the dead baby. Then the cool tints of dawn
passed into the golden sunrise, and the birds went on calling to him
concerning the many times in which he had trodden this path as a lover
whose mistress had seemed so strange a denizen of this same wide sea.
Caius did not think with scorn now of this old puzzle and bewilderment,
but remembered it fondly, and went and sat beneath baby Day's epitaph,
on the very rock from which he had first seen Josephine. It was very
early in the morning; the sun had risen bright and warm. At that season
even this desolate bit of shore wag garlanded above with the most lovely
green; the little island was green as an emerald.
Caius did not intend to keep his present place long. The rocky point
where the red cliff ended hid any portion of the Day farm from his view,
and as soon as the morning was far enough advanced he intended to go and
see how the owner and his household had fared during the night.
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