“Brassid, I am going home. You will not be restrained.”
“And I’ll follow you. The only way to get rid of me is to marry me.”
“Then I will never, never marry you, Brassid,” said the Sea-Lady, leaving him that riddle, which he never solved. For it was the last day, and presently it would be the second time that her eyes of blue had said, “Too late!”
IV
BUT SHE WAS BEST OF ALL
She pulled him out of the water, and they bathed in the sun. Not a ship sailed the sea.
His voice spoke first, as if he dreamed—a fragment—“But you are best of all!”
She looked up and found his eyes upon her. With her own she questioned him.
“Nothing is in sight, nothing can be heard, but what God has made. This!” He waved his hand at the immaculate sky. “That!” The limitless sea. “The earth!” He pointed where it stretched away from them to the vanishing-point. “You!”
“No—you!” she laughed.
“And it is all good. God alone knows how good. But,” he repeated, while his gaze was fixed upon her upturned face, “you are best of all!”