“Courage!” gasped Brassid.
“Yes; once more. To be your wife!”
They swam silently.
“Brassid—I am thinking—of all the dear things you—said. I didn’t notice some of them then. But now—as the drowning do—they are all—very—sweet.”
“You are not drowning,” said Brassid, with his last ferocity.
“It is so strange—that love—should make—one—afraid! I never was—afraid—until I loved you—Brassid—Brassid! Until I—loved—you!”
Brassid put his arm under her to float her. As he did so she sank away from him.
“Can’t—Brassid—dear,” she whispered. “I—am—too—tired—too—tired—”
He saw the dear face with the green water between them. The sun made it glorious—piteous.
“Too late!” said the eyes, as they had said it that first night—he could read it now as plainly as then. And another smile, as then. Her eyes kept upon him. She was quite still. Her arms opened to him. They closed about him, and once more Brassid followed the lovely Sea-Lady to the bottom.