Richards, Laura Elizabeth Howe, 1850-1943 / 2008-11-18 00:00:00
The sun had set. The sea on which Miss Vesta looked was a water of
gold, shimmering here and there into opal; only where it broke on
the shingle at the garden foot, the water was its usual colour of a
chrysophrase, with a rim of ivory where it touched the shore. The
window was open, and a light breeze blew from the water; blew across
the garden, and brought with it scents of lilac, syringa, and June
roses. It was a pleasant hour, and Miss Vesta was well content. She
liked even better the later evening, when the glow would fade from
the west, and her lamp would shed its own path of gold across the
water; but this was pleasant enough.
"It is a very sightly evening!" said Miss Vesta, in the soft
half-voice in which she often talked to herself. "Good Lord, I
beseech thee, protect all souls at sea this night; for Jesus
Christ's sake; amen!"
This was the prayer that Miss Vesta had offered every evening for
thirty years. As often as she repeated it, the sea before her eyes
changed, and she saw a stretch of black tossing water, with
foam-crests that the lightning turned to pale fire; a sail drove
across her window, dipped, and disappeared. Miss Vesta closed her
eyes.
But as the old doctor said, people do not mourn for thirty years;
when she opened her eyes, they were grave, but serene.
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