means difficult when they imagined the lines without the words, or, better still, the letter without the lines.  A holy satisfaction belonged to the sealed thing; the breaking of the seal and inspection of the contents imposed perplexity on that sentiment.  They thought of certain possible sentences Matey and Browny would exchange; but the plain, conceivable, almost visible, outside of the letter had a stronger spell for them than the visionary inside.  This fancied contemplation of the love-letter was reversed in them at once by the startling news of Miss Vincent’s discovery and seizure of the sealed thing, and her examination of the burden it contained.  Then their thirst was for drama—­to see, to drink every wonderful syllable those lovers had written.

Miss Vincent’s hand was upon one of Matey’s letters.  She had come across the sister of little Collett, Selina her name was, carrying it.  She saw nothing of the others.  Aminta was not the girl to let her.  Nor did Mr. Cuper dare demand from Matey a sight or restitution of the young lady’s half of the correspondence.  He preached heavily at Matey; deplored that the boy he most trusted, etc.—­the school could have repeated it without hearing.  We know the master’s lecture in tones—­it sings up to sing down, and touches nobody.  As soon as he dropped to natural talk, and spoke of his responsibility and Miss Vincent’s, Matey gave the word of a man of honour that he would not seek to communicate farther with Miss Farrell at the school.

Now there was a regular thunder-hash among the boys on the rare occasions when they met the girls.  All that Matey and Browny were forbidden to write they looked—­much like what it had been before the discovery; and they dragged the boys back from promised instant events.  It was, nevertheless, a heaving picture, like the sea in the background of a marine piece at the theatre, which rouses anticipations of storm, and shows readiness.  Browny’s full eyebrow sat on her dark eye like a cloud of winter noons over the vanishing sun.  Matey was the prisoner gazing at light of a barred window and measuring the strength of the bars.  She looked unhappy, but looked unbeaten more.  Her look at him fed the school on thoughts of what love really is, when it is not fished out of books and poetry.  For though she was pale, starved and pale, they could see she was never the one to be sighing; and as for him, he looked ground dower all to edge.  However much they puzzled over things, she made them feel they were sure, as to her, that she drove straight and meant blood, the life or death of it:  all her own, if need be, and confidence in the captain she had chosen.  She could have been imagined saying, There is a storm, but I am ready to embark with you this minute.