They had left the town far behind by now, and the beach stretched solitary before them and utterly silent save for the moist sound of the sea. The ripples spent themselves in a glittering film of silver at their feet. The firm, smooth sand showed hardly any impress as they passed. It seemed difficult to believe that the sea was not ever thus, but that roaring waters trampled the shore and made the shingles shriek under lowering skies.
“I shall not forget my months at Callydon,” said the man, with deepening significance.
“Is there any need?” she answered.
“God knows! I have your picture here,” and he laid his big, brown hand over his heart.
Gabriel’s wife smiled with a suggestive intelligence.
“Callydon is not a lost Paradise,” she said, “nor are we Adam and Eve. Do you remember the various things you said to me that day when we were playing golf? They seem prophetic as I recall them now. Well, it will save us trouble.”
He glanced suddenly in her face with a keen, desirous look.
“What is it?”
“I have news for you.”
“No—not that.”