"I
see the sun shining on the roofs."
Mrs. Lysle shook her head. "No, dearie; that is the snow on the
mountain peaks. The city has--gone."
But far into the twilight she yet stood watching the purple sea,
the dove-gray coast. Her world was with her--the man she had chosen
for her life partner, and the little boy that belonged to them
both--but there are times even in the life of a wife and mother
when her soul rebels at cutting herself off from her womenkind, and
all that environment of social life among women means, even if the
act itself is voluntary on her part. It was a relief, then, from
her rather sombre musing at the ship's rail, when the major lightly
placed both hands on her shoulders and said, "Grahamie has toddled
off to the stateroom. The sea air is weighting down his eyelids."
"Sea air?" laughed Mrs. Lysle. "Don't you believe it, Horace. The
young monkey had been just scampering about the deck with the men
until his little legs are tired out. I'm half afraid our 'Mounted'
boys bid fair to spoil him. I'll go to him, for I promised him a
story to-night."
"Which you would rather perish than not tell him, if you promised,"
smiled the major. "You govern that boy the same way I do my men,
eh, dear?"
"It's the only way to govern boys or soldiers," she laughed back
from the head of the companionway.
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