From every window of her new home she saw some varying aspect of it.

Its haunting murmur was ever in her ears.

Vessels sailed up the harbor every day to the wharf at the Glen, or sailed out again through the sunset, bound for ports that might be half way round the globe.

Fishing boats went white-winged down the channel in the mornings, and returned laden in the evenings.

Sailors and fisher-folk travelled the red, winding harbor roads, light-hearted and content.
There was always a certain sense of things going to happen--of adventures and farings-forth.