through the morning‚ÅÝ‚Äîall the Fleece was in flower‚ÅÝ‚Äîa mighty swaying sea, darkling rich and waving, and upon it flecks and stars of white and purple foam. The joy of the two so madly craved expression that they burst into singing; not the wild light song of dancing feet, but a low, sweet melody of her fathers‚Äô fathers, whereunto Alwyn‚Äôs own deep voice fell fitly in minor cadence.
Miss Smith and Miss Taylor, who were sorting the mail, heard them singing as they came up out of the swamp. Miss Taylor looked at them, then at Miss Smith.
But Miss Smith sat white and rigid with the first opened letter in her hand.