Seton knelt down and held the glass to his cousin's lips.
Merefleet returned softly and paused behind her chair.
"It's this confounded heat," said Seton in a savage undertone. "She will be all right directly."
Merefleet said nothing. Again he was keenly conscious of the fact that Seton wanted to get rid of him. But a stronger influence than Seton possessed kept him standing there.
Mab opened her eyes as the neat spirit burnt her lips. She tried to push the glass away, but Seton would not allow it.
"Just a drain, my dear girl," he said. "It will do you all the good in the world. And then—Merefleet," glancing up at him, "will you fetch some water?"
Merefleet went as desired.
When he returned, Mab was lying forward in Seton's arms, crying as he had never seen any woman cry before. And Seton was stroking her hair in silence.
Merefleet set down the water noiselessly, and went softly out into the summer dusk. But the great waves beating on the shore could not drown the memory of a woman's bitter sobbing. And the man's heart was dumb and heavy with the trouble he could not fathom.
Some hours later, returning from a weary tramp along the shore, he encountered Seton pacing to and fro on the terrace.