It will be a certain cure for her, and do you good yourself."
And talking of it lightly at first, presently it grew feasible--all
the more so that Helen and her father were spending their second
winter down there in one of those "summer isles of Eden," and word
could be sent to them in advance to be in readiness to join the
Beachbird. And the end of all the talk was that at the close of the
next week John's business had been left in the hands of others, and
John and Lilian and her mother were on the Beachbird's deck as she
slipped down the harbor.
Mr. Reyburn's prophecy proved true: whether the sea-breeze fanned
Lilian into fresh life, whether there were healing balms in the
perpetual summer through which they sailed, or whether she abandoned
herself to the pleasures of the flying hours, she began to regain
strength and color, her languor disappeared, she spent the day in the
soft blissful air with her books or work, her mother knitting and
nodding near by; while John, if not sick himself, yet feeling very
miserable, lay on a mattress on the deck, sometimes dozing, sometimes
following with his eye the graceful lines and snowy dazzle of the
perfect little yacht as mast and sheet and shroud made their relief
upon the sky; sometimes listening to Lilian and Reyburn; sometimes
watching them as they walked up and down in the twilight, her dress
fluttering round her and her fair hair blowing in the wind.
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