# The Green Ray/Chapter XXII
## CHAPTER XXII. THE GREEN RAY.

A few minutes later, under the influence of the fresh air in Clam-shell Cave, Miss Campbell recovered consciousness, and seemed to awake as if from a dream in which Oliver Sinclair had taken the prominent part. Of the dangers to which her imprudence had exposed her, she thought but little.
She could not speak yet, but, at sight of Oliver Sinclair, tears of gratitude filled her eyes, and she held out her hand to her rescuer.
Her uncles, too deeply moved to speak, warmly grasped the young man's hands. Dame Bess and Partridge would have liked to have hugged him.
Then, overcome by fatigue and after changing their saturated garments, they each sought the repose which all so much needed, and this eventful night ended peacefully.
But the impressions of the scene enacted in the legendary cave of Fingal could never be effaced from the memories of those who had been the chief actors in it.
The next day, while Miss Canipbell was still lying upon her couch in Clam-shell Cave, her uncles were walking arm-in-arm along the neighbouring causeway. They did not speak; what need of words to express the thoughts uppermost in both minds? Of what could they be thinking, but that Oliver Sinclair had risked his life in order to save the imprudent young girl? And what must they own but that their first plans might now be realized? In this dumb-show of conversation, carried on by nods and gesticulations, many things were said of which the brothers foresaw the speedy fulfilment. To them Oliver was no longer merely Oliver, but no less than Amin, the most perfect hero of the Gaelic times.
For his part, Sinclair was a prey to very natural excitement. A feeling of delicacy made him wish to be alone; he felt embarrassed in the company of the brothers, as though his very presence might seem to exact the reward of his devotion.
So, after leaving Clam-shell Cave, he wandered off alone over the heights of Staffa.
His thoughts were all of Miss Campbell, and he was quite oblivious of the dangers which he had incurred and voluntarily shared with her. All he cared to remember of this horrible night, were the hours spent by the side of Helena, in the dark cavern, when he held her in his arms to protect her from the raging of the waters. Again through the gleams of phosphorescent light he saw the beautiful face of the young girl, pale, rather with fatigue than fright, rising above the fury of the tempest, like the spirit of the storms! Again he heard her voice, trembling with emotion, as she replied, “What, you knew it?” when he had said, “I know what part you took when I was in danger of perishing inthe Gulf of Coryvrechan!” Again he imagined himself in the scanty shelter afforded by the niche fit only to hold a stone statue, where two young, loving creatures had suffered and struggled for their very lives during many long hours. There it was no longer Oliver Sinclair and Miss Campbell; they had called each other Oliver and Helena, as though, when instant death threatened them, they would have entered upon a new life together!
These vivid thoughts crowded through the young man's brain as he wandered over the island. However much he would like to have returned to Miss Campbell, an irresistible feeling held him back, perhaps in her presence he would be unable to repress the words which were burning on his lips, and he was determined to be silent.
As happens sometimes after a great storm, the weather was splendid; the sky, swept by the fury of the gale, appeared of a transparent and incomparable ultramarine, and not a shred of mist veiled the horizon, though the sun had passed the zenith.
Lost in a whirl of overwhelming thoughts, Sinclair strolled leisurely along, basking in the warm, refulgent light, and inhaling the life-giving sea-breeze, when suddenly a thought struck him—a thought, quite driven from his memory by those now haunting his brain, came back to him as he found himself before an expanse of clear horizon.
“The Green Ray!” he exclaimed, “if ever sky was likely to favour our observation we have it here! Not a cloud! not a sign of haze! and it is scarcely probable that there will be any after the terrific gales of yesterday, which must have swept them all away to the east. Miss Campbell little thinks what a glorious sunset is awaiting her this evening! I must—I must go and let her know—without a moment's delay!”
Delighted at having such a plausible excuse for returning to Helena, Sinclair started back to Clam-shell Cave.
A few minutes later he found himself before Miss Campbell and her uncles, who were looking affectionately at her whilst Dame Bess held her hand.
“Miss Campbell,” said he, “you are better, I am glad to see. Do you feel quite strong again?”
“Yes, Mr. Sinclair,” replied Miss Campbell, starting at sight of the young man.
“I think it would do you good,” resumed Sinclair, “to come and get a breath of fresh air on the heights. The sunshine is splendid after the storm, and it will put new life into you.”
“Mr. Sinclair is right,” said Sam.
“Quite right,” added Sib.
“And then,” continued Oliver Sinclair, “I must tell you that in less than a few hours, unless I am very much mistaken, your dearest wish will be gratified.”
“My dearest wish?” murmured Helena, as though speaking to herself.
“Yes; the sky is remarkably clear, and it is very probable that the sun will set on a cloudless horizon.”
“Can it be possible?” cried Sam.
“Can it be possible?” repeated his brother.
“And I have good reason to believe,” added Sinclair, “that this very evening we shall be able to see the Green Ray.”
“The Green Ray!” repeated Miss Campbell.
And she seemed to be puzzling her confused brain as to what this ray could be.
“Ah, to be sure!” added she, “we came here to see the Green Ray!”
“Come along! Come along!” said her uncle Sam, delighted at this opportunity of drawing the young girl out of the lethargy into which she had fallen. “Let us go to the other side of the island.”
“And we shall have a better appetite for dinner on our return,” gaily added Sib.
It was then five o'clock in the afternoon.
Led by Oliver Sinclair, the whole party, including Dame Bess and Partridge, at once left the cave, and mounting the flight of wooden steps which led up the face of the cliff, they reached the plateau of the island.
The brothers could not repress their delight at the magnificence of the sky, through which the sun was slowly travelling down to the west. Perhaps they exaggerated a little, but never, no never had they been so enthusiaistic with regard to the phenomenon. It almost seemed that it was especially for their benefit, and not for that of their niece, that they had made so many changes and submitted to so much discomfort, since they had left Helensburgh.
In truth, the sunset that evening promised to be splendid, and the most prosaic of individuals must have admired the glorious panorama of sea and sky stretching before his eyes.
Helena felt instilled with new life as she inhaled the fresh breezes; her beautiful, clear eyes sparkled with health as she gazed on the rippling waters of the Atlantic stretching far and wide, and her pale cheeks were faintly tinged with pink. How lovely she looked! And how charming her whole appearance! Oliver Sinclair walked a little way behind, and regarded her in silence; he who had often accompanied her in her long walks without the slightest embarrassment, now scarcely dared look at her for the wild throbbing of his heart!
As for the brothers, they were positively as radiant as the sun which they begged to have the goodness to set in a cloudless horizon, and to favour them with a sight of its green ray, whilst, between them, they repeated alternate verses of one of Ossian's poems.
   “‘O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O Sun! thy everlasting light?’”
   “‘Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave; but thou thyself movest alone.’”
   “‘Who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again.’”
   “‘The moon herself is lost in heaven; but thou art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.’”
   “‘When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder rolls and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm.’”
Talking in this enthusiastic strain, they reached the farther end of the heights overlooking the sea. Here they sat down on the rocks, before a perfectly clear horizon.
And this time there was no Aristobulus to bring a sailing-boat in the way, or to raise a flight of sea-birds between Staffa and the setting sun!
As evening came on, the breeze fell, and the waves broke with a gentle plash at the foot of the rocks, the sea was as calm and smooth as a mirror, ruffled only now and then by the lightest breath of wind.
Everything was wonderfully favourable for the observation of the phenomenon.
But behold, half an hour later, Partridge pointing towards the south cried,—
“A sail!”
A sail! Would it once again pass in front of the sun's disk just as it was sinking below the sea? This would indeed have been more than mere ill-luck!
The boat was coming out of the narrow strait between Iona and Mull, and was carried along by the tide rather than the wind, for there was not sufficient breeze to fill her sails.
“It is the Clorinda,” said Sinclair; “and as she will make for the other side of Staffa, she will not interfere at all with our view.”
It was indeed the Cloritida, which, after doubling the southern point of Mull, was making for her moorings in Clam-shell Cove.
All eyes were again turned towards the west. The sun seemed to sink with greater rapidity as it approached the sea; it threw a long trail of dazzling light over the trembling surface of the water; its disk soon changed from a shade of old gold, to fiery red, and, through their half-closed eyes, seemed to glitter with all the varying shades of a kaleidoscope. Faint, waving lines streaked the quivering trail of light cast on the surface of the water, like a spangled mass of glittering gems.
Not the faintest sign of cloud, haze, or mist was visible along the whole of the horizon, which was as clearly defined as a black line traced on white paper.
Motionless, and with intense excitement, they watched the fiery globe as it sank nearer and nearer the horizon, and, for an instant, hung suspended over the abyss. Then, through the refraction of the rays, its disk seemed to change till it looked like an Etruscan vase, with bulging sides, standing on the water. There was no longer any doubt as to the appearance of the phenomenon. Nothing could now interfere with this glorious sunset! Nothing could prevent its last ray from being seen!
The sun was just half way below the horizon, and its powerful rays were shot across the sky like golden arrows; in the distance the cliffs of Mull and the summit of Ben More were bathed in brilliant, purple light.
At last only a faint rim of gold skimmed the surface of the sea.
“The Green Ray! the Green Ray!” cried in one breath the brothers, Dame Bess and Partridge, whose eyes for one second had revelled in the incomparable tint of liquid jade.
Oliver and Helena alone had missed the phenomenon which had at last appeared after so many fruitless observations.
Just as the sun was shooting its last ray into space their eyes met, and all else was forgotten in that glance!
But Helena had caught the black ray, shining from the young man's eyes, and Oliver the blue ray beaming from hers!
The sun had gone down, and neither Oliver nor Helena had seen the Green Ray.