Spell-bound and quivering with excitement, the Water Rat followed the
Adventurer league by league, over stormy bays, through crowded
roadsteads, across harbour bars on a racing tide, up winding rivers
that hid their busy little towns round a sudden turn; and left him
with a regretful sigh planted at his dull inland farm, about which he
desired to hear nothing.
By this time their meal was over, and the Seafarer, refreshed and
strengthened, his voice more vibrant, his eye lit with a brightness
that seemed caught from some far-away sea-beacon, filled his glass
with the red and glowing vintage of the South, and, leaning towards
the Water Rat, compelled his gaze and held him, body and soul, while
he talked. Those eyes were of the changing foam-streaked grey-green
of leaping Northern seas; in the glass shone a hot ruby that seemed
the very heart of the South, beating for him who had courage to
respond to its pulsation. The twin lights, the shifting grey and the
steadfast red, mastered the Water Rat and held him bound, fascinated,
powerless. The quiet world outside their rays receded far away and
ceased to be.
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