"Not alone, dearest."
"Yes, Katherine," he kissed her sadly.
For minutes which seemed like hours, she stood there arguing, pleading, begging in vain. It was best for her—that was his one thought. He was a dull, dead weight upon her; it was right to make her free. And the blue arms beckoned still.
Suddenly she drew his face down to hers and whispered to him. What she said seemed to rouse him from himself.
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Can you leave me now?"
Something more than the glory of the sunset shone in Katherine's face as she stood between him and the water. She was subtly beautiful, with the infinite motherhood, which lives in every woman's heart, and as he looked at her, the shackles of his dead cowardly self fell away. A great resolve within him slowly swelled into a controlling power—he would be worthy of her who stood beside him, cost what it might. His voice was tender and caressing when he spoke again.
"Leave you? No, Katherine, no."
They walked home together and spoke of other things. There was a stronger bond between them, and the water seemed cold and bitter now—very different from the eerie, half-human thing that had tempted him an hour ago.