“You are quite wrong. I would do none of all this,” she answered bravely. A horrid suspicion that the rumours she had heard about him might be true flashed through her mind. What if he had done in a moment of weak desperation that which nothing but death could undo?
“I had never expected to look upon your dear face again,” he went on in the same tones of heart-wrung misery. “I set out this day to visit for the last time the scenes we had looked upon together, and to break my heart over the memories that they would evoke. Then, as I trod these stones which your feet had trodden, as on holy ground, I invoked the aid of the demon who rules the universe—offering my life and limitless future of eternity, if such there be—for one glimpse of you. And I was answered. I looked up and there you stood. Now I care nothing for what may happen. I can face it without fear—for my prayer was answered.”
Her tears were falling like rain, and for some time she could not speak—could only cling to him all the firmer.
“You shall not go,” she said at length. “You belong to me. A hundred times more than when all things went well with you. Oh, my darling, do not leave me. I claim you now, for you belong to me!” she reiterated passionately.
It may be that to some lives comes a period such as that which these two had to undergo at this moment; it cannot be that it comes to many. But even while she spoke, another had claimed them both—ay, and had already made good his claim. With swift, remorseless subtlety the dark waves came sweeping in. The King of Terrors was about to exact the fulfilment of his awful bargain—and to exact it with interest.
“Olive, come. We must go, and go quickly.”
She gazed at him in surprise. His tone had changed to one of calmness, almost indifference, except for a quick anxiety, which her ear detected.
“It will be all we can do to turn the corner over there before the water is even knee-deep.”
She followed his glance, and her face paled slightly. Nearly a mile of beach lay between them and the jutting headland, whose base even now was all but hidden by the inflowing tide. As the waves receded, a few yards of ground were left visible, but the next roller or two swept over it completely, breaking into angry foam against the rock. Full well she knew—full well both of them knew—the perilous nature of the coast, for every year added its quota to the list of victims of the treacherous tides.
“We shall never do it, Roland.”