[Sidenote:  “I’ll Try It”]

“I’ll try it,” she thought.  “If I get tired, I can sit down and rest, and if I think it is going to be too much for me, I can come back.  It can’t be very far—­just down this road.”

She dressed hurriedly, putting on her warm, white wool gown and her little low soft shoes.  She did not stop to brush out her hair and braid it again, for it was very early and no one would see.  She put over her head the white lace scarf she had worn to the wedding, took her white knitted shawl, and went downstairs so quietly that Aunt Miriam did not hear her.

She unbolted the door noiselessly and went out, closing it carefully after her.  On the top step was a very small package, tied with string, and a letter addressed, simply, “To Barbara.”  She recognised it as a book and a note from Roger—­he had done such things before.  She did not want to go back, so she tucked it under her arm and went on.

It seemed so strange to be going out of her gate alone and in the dark!  Barbara was thrilled with a sense of adventure and romance which was quite new to her.  This journeying into unknown lands in pursuit of unknown waters had all the fascination of discovery.

[Sidenote:  An Autumn Dawn]

She went down the road faster than she had ever walked before.  She was not at all tired and was eager for the sea.  The Autumn dawn with its keen, cool air stirred her senses to new and abounding life.  She went on and on and on, pausing now and then to lean against somebody’s fence, or to rest on a friendly boulder when it appeared along the way.

Faint suggestions of colour appeared in the illimitable distances beyond.  Barbara saw only a vast, grey expanse, but the surf murmured softly on the shadowy shore.  Crossing the sand, and stumbling as she went, she stooped and dipped her hand into it, then put her rosy forefinger into her mouth to see if it were really salt, as everyone said.  She sat down in the soft, cool sand, drew her white knitted shawl and lace scarf more closely about her, and settled herself to wait.

[Sidenote:  Sunrise on the Sea]

The deep purple softened with rose.  Tints of gold came far down on the horizon line.  Barbara drew a long breath of wonder and joy.  Out in the vastness dark surges sang and crooned, breaking slowly into white foam as they approached the shore.  Rose and purple melted into amethyst and azure, and, out beyond the breakers, the grey sea changed to opal and pearl.

Mist rose from the far waters and the long shafts of leaping light divided it by rainbows as it lifted.  Prismatic fires burned on the boundless curve where the sky met the sea.  Wet-winged gulls, crying hoarsely, came from the night that still lay upon the islands near shore, and circled out across the breakers to meet the dawn.

Spires of splendid colour flamed to the zenith, the whole east burned with crimson and glowed with gold, and from that far, mystical arc of heaven and earth, a javelin of molten light leaped to the farthest hill.  The pearl and opal changed to softest green, mellowed by turquoise and gold, the slow blue surges chimed softly on the singing shore, and Barbara’s heart beat high with rapture, for it was daybreak in earth and heaven and morning in her soul.