“Escaped!”
“Yes; and you will escape. And in the future, when you are away—and happy—don’t curse me—think of me as a poor lost woman, driven by fate—to what I am—but who saw and loved you, Humphrey Armstrong, as woman has seldom loved before.”
“Oh, hush!” he said huskily. “For Heaven’s sake don’t speak like that!”
“No,” she said gently, after listening for a few moments; but all was still. “I will not speak. It is nearly over now. You will forgive me?”
“Forgive you—yes!”
She uttered a low sigh, full of thankfulness, as she still clung to his hand.
“It is enough,” she said. “Now, go! You know the way. Be cautious, be patient, and bide your time; and then Heaven speed you safely home!—He has forgiven me,” she sighed to herself, and the pressure upon his hand seemed to increase.
“Well,” she said after a few moments’ pause, “why do you stay?”
Her voice startled him in its intensity, for it seemed to echo through the place; and his hand had, as it had been for many minutes past, grasped hers with crushing force as the tide rose to its fullest height and bore him on.
“And you!” he said. “What will you do?”