Mrs. Andrews put her arm around Edna’s waist, but something in the countenance astonished and disappointed her.

“Mrs. Andrews, Sir Roger sails to-morrow for England.  He desired me to beg that you would excuse him for not coming to bid you good-bye.”

“Sails to-morrow!  When does he return to America?”

“Probably never.”

“Edna Earl, you are an idiot!  You may have any amount of genius, but certainly not one grain of common sense!  I have no patience with you!  I had set my heart on seeing you his wife.”

“But, unfortunately for me, I could not set my heart on him.  I am very sorry.  I wish we had never met, for indeed I like Sir Roger.  But it is useless to discuss what is past and irremediable.  Where are the children?”

“Asleep, I suppose.  After all, show me ‘a gifted woman, a genius,’ and I will show you a fool.”

Mrs. Andrews bit her lip, and walked off; and Edna went upstairs to Felix’s room.

The boy was sitting by the open window, watching gray clouds trailing across the moon, checkering the face of the mighty deep, now with shadow, now with sheen.  So absorbed was he in his communing with the mysterious spirit of the sea, that he did not notice the entrance of the governess until he felt her hand on his shoulder.

“Ah! have you come at last?  Edna, I was wishing for you a little while ago, for as I sat looking over the waves, a pretty thought came into my mind, and I want to tell you about it.  Last week, you remember, we were reading about Antony and Cleopatra; and just now, while I was watching a large star yonder making a shining track across the sea, a ragged, hungry-looking cloud crept up, and nibbled at the edge of the star, and swallowed it!  And I called the cloud Cleopatra swallowing her pearl!”

Edna looked wonderingly into the boy’s bright eyes, and drew his head to her shoulder.

“My dear Felix, are you sure you never heard that same thought read or quoted?  It is beautiful, but this is not the first time I have heard it.  Think, my dear little boy; try to remember where you saw it written.”

“Indeed, Edna, I never saw it anywhere.  I am sure I never heard it either; for it seemed quite new when it bounced into my mind just now.  Who else ever thought of it?”

“Mr. Stanyan Bigg, an English poet, whose writings are comparatively unknown in this country.  His works I have never seen, but I read a review of them in an English book, which contained many extracts; and that pretty metaphor which you used just now, was among them.”

“Is that review in our library?”

“No, I am sure it is not; but you may have seen the lines quoted somewhere else.”

“Edna, I am very certain I never heard it before.  Do you recollect how it is written in the Englishman’s poem?  If you can repeat it, I shall know instantly, because my memory is very good.”

“I think I can give you one stanza, for I read it when I was in great sorrow, and it made an impression upon me: