Page:George Gibbs--Love of Monsieur.djvu/159

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"BRAS-DE-FER"



now and then an opalescent sea, more venturesome and intrepid than his fellows, would catch her full in the bluff of the bows and go a-flying over her forecastle in a shower of spume and water-drops, which in the golden light turned into jewels of many hues and went flying across the deck to be carried down to the cool, translucent deeps under her lee. But she shook herself free with a disdainful, sweeping toss and set her broad bows out towards the open, where the colors were ever growing deeper and the winds more rude and boisterous, as though she recked not how impetuous the buffets of the storm, how turbulent the caresses of the sea.

Something of the exhilaration of the old life came upon Monsieur Mornay as he sent a seaman-like eye aloft at the straining canvases. The Sally was leaving the narrows and making for the broad reaches where the Channel grew into the wide ocean. Far away over his larboard quarter, growing ever dimmer in the eastern mist of the morning, was the coast of France, the land where he was born, where he had suffered and struggled to win the good

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