"Say what you will, but never call the sea monotonous--it is never that; it always gives on the impression of power and majesty." "And of mystery," I interrupted.
"Of mystery," she repeated, and the words seemed forced from her in spite of herself.
"Yes, of mystery!" I said.

"Think what is buried in the sea! Think of the vessels that have sank laden with human beings! No one will know one-third of the mysteries of the sea until the day when she gives up the dead." The spray of lilac fell to the ground.

She rose quickly and made no attempt to regain it.
"It is growing chilly," she said; "I will go into the house." "A strange thing that my wife does not like the sea," said Lance.
But it was not strange to my mind--not strange at all..