I know you are good to me, but you cannot tell how certain I am about Lucy; yes, and the mill, too." "Well, my dear lad, I believe you tonight; but what I want you to believe is that tomorrow some new light may shine and you may see your thoughts on these two subjects in a different way.

Just keep your mind open to whatever you may see or hear that can instruct your intentions.
That is all I ask.

If you are willing to be instructed, the Instructor will come, not perhaps, but certainly." Four days after this conversation life in Hatton had broken apart, and Harry was speeding down the Bay of Biscay and singing the fine old sea song called after it, to the rhythm and music of its billowy surge.

The motion of the boat, the wind in the sails, the "chanties" of the sailors as they went about their work, and the evident content and happiness around him made Harry laugh and sing and toss away his cap and let the fresh salt wind blow on his hot brain in which he fancied the clack and clamor of the looms still lingered.

He thought that a life at sea, resting or sailing as the mood took him, would be a perfect life if only Lucy were with him.
Sitting at dinner he very pointedly made the absence of women the great want in this otherwise perfect existence.