“I’m not going crazy. It’s sober truth. Louis, Louis, what are we to do?”
“Prevent that boat from leaving us behind.”
“Ah, you don’t care! It’s nothing to you!”
The hand on her arm tightened in such a grip she could hardly keep from crying out with the pain of it, but faster than ever the two were flying along the stony beach.
“Oh Louis, help me!” she said passionately, and holding back by main force she brought down the pace. “You wouldn’t want me to—oh, tell me what’s to be done!”
“I don’t know.” Suddenly all that energy of his seemed spent. “Perhaps nothing can be done.”
She had never before seen hopelessness in his face. It pierced through all her preoccupation and excitement. “Yes, yes, something can be done. You needn’t take it as you’re doing. Oh, Louis, don’t you see, you might go back.”
“I?” He looked at her with eyes that made her draw a breath of pain. “It is true,” he said; “I might go back.”
“Will you?” she faltered.