A phantom form lighting its way beneath the surface sailed by, a myriad of the sparkling points accompanying it.
"Even the sea has its spirits," she remarked.
"On a night like this it is possible to idealise even a jelly fish," he answered whimsically.
He took again to the oars. Few words were spoken between them.
They came at last to their landing place. Guy made the boat fast and joined Meriel on the bank. He clasped her lightly in his arms. "Tell me you love me, Meriel," he demanded almost fiercely.
Her assurance was whispered only, but Guy recognised an intensity as great as his own. He held her closely to him.
"I have something to—say," he told her. "I cannot ask you to marry me,"—the words were wrung from him—"until I have told you something about myself which you do not suspect."
She did not move in his embrace. He could see her eyes shining in the darkness.
"Nothing you could tell me would make any difference, Guy," she answered.
A sharp pain stabbed his heart. "I am not worthy, Meriel," he said. "And I fear that to-morrow you will tell me so."