The mountain peaks rose cold and blue in the distance.
Ralph, having inquired his way of the
boatman who had landed him at the pier, walked
rapidly along the beach, with a small valise in
his hand, and a light summer overcoat flung
over his shoulder. Many half-thoughts grazed
his mind, and ere the first had taken shape, the
second, and the third came and chased it away.
And still they all in some fashion had reference
to Bertha; for in a misty, abstract way, she
filled his whole mind; but for some indefinable
reason, he was afraid to give free rein to the
sentiment which lurked in the remoter corners
of his soul.
Onward he hastened, while his heart throbbed
with the quickening tempo of mingled expectation
and fear. Now and then one of those chill
gusts of air which seem to be careering about
aimlessly in the atmosphere during early summer,
would strike into his face, and recall him
to a keener self-consciousness.
Ralph concluded, from his increasing agitation,
that he must be very near Bertha's home.
He stopped and looked around him. He saw a
large maple at the roadside, some thirty steps
from where he was standing, and the girl who
was sitting under it, resting her head in her
hand and gazing out over the sea, he recognized
in an instant to be Bertha. He sprang up on the
road, not crossing, however, her line of vision,
and approached her noiselessly from behind.
"Bertha," he whispered.
She gave a little joyous cry, sprang up, and
made a gesture as if to throw herself in his arms;
then suddenly checked herself, blushed crimson,
and moved a step backward.
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