The twilight of love, always in all faces the same, which comes when at a call the Christ rises from the deeps of the heart, darkened his eyes.
He gave a shy little cough.
"There's one bower-anchor'll weather any storm, by your leave, sir," he said, the sailor and the Christian quaintly commingled.
The boy felt the other's strength flow into his.
"I know," he panted, and plunged.
CHAPTER LXV
THE DOINGS IN THE CREEK
I
As he ran he seemed to himself to be a body of lead borne on watery dream-legs.
In the sally of yesterday at least he had Knapp with him. Now he was alone. And to dare alone is to be revealed to yourself, naked as you are.