They did not talk very freely that summer’s day.  The heart when full rarely pours itself out in words.  A look, a pressure of the hand, or (if such improprieties are to be imagined) a kiss, expresses the emotions far better than the most glowing speech.  It was enough for Marcia, steeped in delicious languor, to sway with the rocking boat, to feel the soft wind dallying with her hair, and to look with unutterable fondness at her companion.

As long as the ceremonies of society are observed, and people are kept asunder a room’s distance, so that only the mind acts, and the senses are in repose, reserve may keep up its barrier.  Words lose their electricity in passing through a cool tract of air, and Reason shows all things in her own clear white light.  But establish a magnetic circle by contact, let hand rest in quivering hand, while eye looks into melting eye, and Reason may as well resign her sway.  When the nerves tingle, the heart bounds, and the breath quickens, estates, honors, family, prudence, are of little worth.  The Grundys, male and female, may go hang; the joy of the present so transcends all memory, so eclipses hope even, that all else is forgotten.

The boat careened somewhat, and Marcia changed her seat to the opposite side, quite near to Greenleaf.  His right hand held the tiller,—­his left, quite unconsciously, it would seem, fell into her open palm.  The subtile influence ran through every fibre.  What he said he did not know, only that he verged towards the momentous subject, and committed himself so far that he must either come plainly to the point or apologize and withdraw as best he might. Could he withdraw, while, as he held her soft hand, that lambent fire played along his nerves?  He did not give up the hand.

Poor little Alice!  Her picture in his breast-pocket no longer weighed upon his heart.

The breeze freshened, the boat rose and fell with easy motion over the whitening waves.  The sun all at once was obscured.  They looked behind them; a heavy black cloud was rising rapidly in the west.  Greenleaf put the boat about, and, as it met the shock of the sea, they were covered with spray.  To go back in the wind’s eye was clearly impossible; they must beat up, and, hauling as close to the wind as possible, they stood towards Swampscot.  For a mile or two they held this course, and then tacked.  But making very little headway in that direction, the bow was turned northward again.  In coming about they shipped so much water, that Marcia, though by no means a coward, screamed out, “We are lost!” She flung herself into the bottom of the boat and laid her head in Greenleaf’s lap like a frightened child.  He soothed her and denied that there was danger; he did not venture to tack again, however, for fear of being swamped, but determined to run northwardly along the coast in the hope of getting ashore on some sandy beach before the fury of the storm should come.  The boat now careened so far that her gunwale was under