Muriel, stifling her
tears, dared not approach her.
* * * * *
Northward and eastward from Dover Harbor, sweep beyond sweep, rose the
white cliffs that are to the arriving and departing Englishman the
symbols of his country.
Diana, on deck, wrapped in veil and cloak, watched them disappear, in
mists already touched by the moonrise. Six months before she had seen
them for the first time, had fed her eyes upon the "dear, dear land," as
cliffs and fields and houses flashed upon the sight, yearning toward it
with the passion of a daughter and an exile.
In those six months she had lived out the first chapter of her youth.
She stood between two shores of life, like the vessel from which she
gazed; vanishing lights and shapes behind her; darkness in front.
"Where lies the land to which the ship must go?
Far, far ahead is all the seamen know!"
Part III
"_Love's eye is not so true as all men's: no,
How can it? O how can Love's eye be true
That is so vexed with watching and with tears?_"
CHAPTER XV
London was in full season. But it was a cold May, and both the town and
its inhabitants wore a gray and pinched aspect.
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