And suddenly his arms were round her. She gave a little gasp, but made no attempt to escape from him. This was all so different, so new to her. There was something in the strong salt air blowing over them which seemed to purify the world and raise them above the sordid cares thereof. There was something simple and strong and primitive in this man--at home on his own element, all filled with the strength of the ocean--mastering her, claiming her as if by force.
“What did you mean?” he asked again.
She pushed him away, and turning stood beside him with her two hands resting on the rail, her back turned towards him.
“Oh, Luke,” she whispered at length, “I can’t be poor--I can’t--I can’t. You do not know what it is. It has always been such a struggle--there is no rest in it.”
It is said that women can raise men above the world. How often do they bring them down to it when they are raising themselves!
And Luke’s love was large enough to accept her as she was.
“And if I were not poor?” he asked, without any of the sullen pride that was his.
She answered nothing, and he read her silence aright.
“I will become rich,” he said, “somehow. I do not care how. I will, I will--Agatha!”
She did not dare to meet his eyes.