He was content,
yet he felt he ought not to be content. He thought there must be
something base in himself, yet he felt that there was not. He drank the
wine of his honeymoon marveling.
On the morning before the _Red Cloud_ entered the port of Cairo
Mrs. Higgman was out of the cabin, and Peter stood at the little square
window, with his arm about Cissie's waist, looking out to the rear of
the steamer. A strong east wind blew the spray away from the glass, and
Peter could see the huge wheel covered with a waterfall thundering
beneath him. Back of the wheel stretched a long row of even waves and
troughs. Every seventh or eighth wave tumbled over on itself in a swash
of foam. These flashing stern waves strung far up the river. On each
side of the great waterway stretched the flat shores of Kentucky and
Ohio. Here and there over the broad clay-colored water moved other
boats--tow-boats, a string of government auto-barges, a snag-boat,
another packet.
Peter gave up his question. The curves of Cissie's form in his arm held
a sweetness and a restfulness that her maidenhood had never promised.
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