"Didn't I tell you I should follow you—and bring you back?"
She shrank at his words. "I can't come—I can't come!" she said.
"You will come, Juliet," he said quietly.
"No—no!" She lifted her head in sudden passionate protest. "Not to be tortured! I can't face it! Before God I would rather—I would rather—die!"
He answered her with flame that leaped to hers. "And don't you think I would rather die than let you go?"
"Ah!" she said, and no more; for the fierce possession of his hold checked all remonstrance.
She sought to hide her face again, but he would not suffer it, and in the end with an anguished sound she ceased to battle with him and sank down in utter weakness in his hold.
He lifted her then, but he did not kiss her. He found the sofa and laid her down upon it. Then she heard him feeling along the wall for the switch.
She reached out a quivering hand and pressed it, then as the light glowed she turned from him, covering her eyes from his look. He stood for a few seconds gazing down at her, almost as if at a loss.
And while he so stood, there arose a sudden deep throbbing that mingled with the splash of water, and the yacht ceased to rise and fall and thrilled into movement.