She was not in the house when at last Stanley Heath overtook her, but far up the beach tossing driftwood into the surf for Prince Hal to retrieve.
The man paused, watching them.
Hatless, her splendid body aglow with exercise, Marcia had the freedom and wholesomeness of a young athlete. She threw the sticks with the overhand swing of a boy pitching a ball. Yet with all her strength and muscular ease, there was a grace unmistakably feminine in her every movement. Feminine, too, and very beautiful was her finely poised head, her blowing hair, her glorious color, and her sparkling eyes.
When she turned and saw him, she uttered a faint cry, but she did not advance to meet him. Prince Hal did that, racing up the beach, uttering shrill yelps of welcome as he came.
A second and the dog was again at Marcia's side, and in this ecstasy of delight he continued to run back and forth until Stanley Heath had covered the sandy curve that intervened and himself stood beside her.
"Marcia—dearest—I have come back—come to ask your forgiveness. I misjudged you cruelly the night we parted and in anger spoke words I had no right to speak. Forgive me, dear! Forgive me! Can you?"
"I forgave you long ago—before you asked," she whispered.
"Forgave without understanding—how like you! But you must not do that. You have more to forgive in me than you know, Marcia. I have been proud, unbelieving, unworthy of a love like yours. I have made you suffer—suffer needlessly. Listen to what I have to tell and then see if you can still forgive."
Turning, they walked slowly along the shore.