He laughed. The vane whirred in the opposite direction. He began to go back to Jennie——
He swam back to her across the Channel, knowing now that she awaited him on the other side——
He ran at Ambleteuse—ran swiftly to her.
His eyes met hers in the glow of the headlights at Ker Annic——
Once more he stood with her in that Tower of dead and forgotten doves—fled on silent wheels with her through the night—in that upper room in the Rue de la Cordonnerie took her, stainless, into his own virgin arms——
He was here again, back at the Château de Beaumanoir; young, beautiful, innocent, grave, his arm dropped now, looking into her eyes, calling to her.
"Look—look at me—yes, look, Jennie!"
"Oh, my God, catch them!" Madge screamed.
But I don't think she saw what I think I saw. Let us say that the scrub was treacherous, that it betrayed his foot; it makes no difference now, for I have no son. Why, after all, go forward again if going forward meant no more than that four-seconds pilgrimage from which he had but that moment returned? Better as it was, neither forward nor back nor standing still on that edge of masonry or on any other edge. He drew her close to him. Their lips met....
"Oh, Lord, Thou hast prevented him with sweetness; he asked life of Thee and Thou hast given him length of days."