If the calm held on and the sky remained unobscured by cloud, by eleven there would be clear moonlight and, if he guessed aright, the beginning of a period of slack water.
Sunset interrupted his calculations—sunset and his wife. Sounds of some one moving quietly round the kitchen, a soft clash of dishes, the rattling of the grate, drew him back to the door.
She showed him a face of calm restraint and implacable resolve, if scored and flushed with weeping. And her habit matched it: she had overcome her passion; her eyes were glorious with peace.
"Hugh"—her voice had found a new, sweet level of gentleness and strength—"I was wondering where you were."
"Can I do anything?"
"No, thank you. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am."
"For what, in Heaven's name?"
She smiled.... "For neglecting you so long. I really didn't think of it until the sunlight began to redden. I've let you go without your lunch."
"It didn't matter—"
"I don't agree. Man must be fed—and so must woman. I'm famished!"