He wondered to whom she spoke. He tightened his hold upon her hand and stood silent.
“‘The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away.’ Each evening I stood here and said those words. If I could have added: ‘Blessed be the Name of the Lord,’ the darkness might have lightened. But I could not; and it still was dark.”
He asked himself what awful memory of sorrow brought that horror of anguish to her face. But the moment kept him silent. He could not speak.
“Oh, cruel sea!” she moaned. “You took my All—my All.”
She shivered, and he folded her wrap more closely around her.
Then she turned to him, and the look of anguish passed. There was gladness in her eyes.
“Come in,” she said. “Let us come in; and shut the door.”
SCENE VII
“AND AFTER THAT—THE DARK”
“Now,” said Lady Tintagel, as he put down his empty coffee-cup, “you may talk. There is no further need to wait.”
“I want to tell you things from the beginning,” he said. “Will it bore you if I begin at the beginning?”