Watching the Tide.
Captain Benwick stood at the shore. The sun flickered across the water like flames, but the wind was cold. He watched the water moving ceaselessly and he remembered a hand in his and a cheerful voice telling him that her affections would never alter, whoever might try to persuade them. She had spoken the truth. Her love had been both constant and strong, stronger than her health, as he now knew. Fanny Harville was dead, her fond heart stilled. Though his love too had remained as strong as ever, yet it could not call back the dead. After long sorrow, he had accepted that.
Doubt and guilt troubled him now. Another sweet face filled his thoughts, another laughing voice, full of life and hope. He wondered if Fanny would ever forgive such inconstancy, if she could comprehend his reasons when she would not in a thousand years have looked upon the face of another. He wondered if he understood his reasons. He threw a stone into the sea, a splash followed, but no ripples that he could see, because the water did not stop moving, even for a moment of thought.
He loved Louisa Musgrove. He loved her as deeply and as devotedly as he had loved Fanny Harville. It seemed his heart could so utterly change its allegiance, though he had never thought it possible. The tide was changing, time was passing. Tomorrow and every day that followed, the sea would return to this shoreline, constant yet inconstant, changing with every movement and changing the shore by degrees.
There was a nobility to lasting grief, even a quiet grandeur. If he clung to his sorrow, many would offer their approbation. There was also a safety to it. A man sunk in despair as he had been aroused few expectations in others. To propose marriage to charming Louisa was to step back into life with all its storms and turbulence, to become a man again, not a shadow lingering from one long vanished from the earth. Then there was another threat to his peace. She might say no, might even laugh at him. The waves did not hesitate. He longed for their relentless certainty. He wished that dearest Fanny had murmured some final wish concerning his future life, but her faithful soul now resided far from his anxious questions.
Water washed over his booted feet. He stepped back. A fisherman nearby grinned a gap-toothed grin and said, "It keeps on coming, sir."
"Indeed it does." he said, "It cannot be prevented. It cannot be held back or sent away. It happens. All we can do is keep our boots in good repair."
"That's the thing to do, sir, keep a good pair of boots and wind and wave be blowed!"
Benwick sighed. He looked at the older man. "You have a wife?"
"I have had two, sir. Sarah died when our lad was born, Mary, God willing, will outlive me."
"And you loved both?"
"Love both, sir. It's different, but the same. I love them both."
The waves had advanced again. Benwick smiled. Returning to life seemed less disturbing somehow. He glanced at the fisherman again. "The salt air dries a man's throat and it is a sad misfortune for any man to drink alone. If you can spare the time ..."
"I'll be right with you." said the fisherman, "My throat is very dry today."
As he walked towards a pleasant beer house, Benwick rehearsed a proposal in his head. For a moment, he thought he felt something brush against his face and his heart called it a parting kiss and a blessing.
The End.