"Let me go!" she said.
The light that never was on earth or sky beamed on the Annie Laurie as it skimmed toward the jetty.
Nell sat in the stern, and Drake lay at her feet, his arms round her, his face upturned to hers.
God knows he was grateful for her love. God also knows how unworthy he felt. This love is such a terrible thing. A maiden goes through the ways of life, in maiden meditation fancy free, pausing beside the brook to pluck the flowers which grow on its bank, and thinking of nothing but the simple girlish things which pertain to maidenhood. Then suddenly a shadow falls across her path. It is the shadow of the Man, and the love which shall raise her to heaven or drag her down to the nethermost hell. A glance, a word, and her fate is decided; before her stretch the long years of joy or misery.
And, alas! she has no choice! Love is lord of all, of our lives, of our fate, and none can say him nay. No one of us can elect to love a little wisely, or unwisely and too well.
But there was no doubt, no misgiving, in Nell's mind that night. She had given herself to this man who had fallen at her feet in Shorne Mills, and she had given herself fully and unreservedly. His very presence was a joy to her. It was a subtle delight to reach out her hand and touch him, though with the tips of her fingers. The gates of paradise had opened and she had entered in.
How short the hour seemed during which they had sailed toward the jetty! She breathed a sigh, which Drake echoed.
"Let me lift you out," he pleaded. "I want to feel you in my arms—once more to-night!"
She surrendered herself, and, for a moment, her head sank on his shoulder.