LITMIR.BIZ

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is good,’ said Helena; ‘it is very good.’ She looked again, and saw the waves like a line of children racing hand in hand, the sunlight pursuing, catching hold of them from behind, as they ran wildly till they fell, caught, with the sunshine dancing upon them like a white dog.

      ‘It is really wonderful here!’ said she; but the moment had gone, she could not see again the grand burning of God among the waves. After a while she turned away.

      As she stood dabbling her bathing-dress in a pool, Siegmund came over the beach to her.

      ‘You are not gone, then?’ he said.

      ‘Siegmund!’ she exclaimed, looking up at him with radiant eyes, as if it could not be possible that he had joined her in this rare place. His face was glowing with the sun’s inflaming, but Helena did not notice that his eyes were full of misery.

      ‘I, actually,’ he said, smiling.

      ‘I did not expect you,’ she said, still looking at him in radiant wonder. ‘I could easier have expected’— she hesitated, struggled, and continued —‘Eros walking by the sea. But you are like him,’ she said, looking radiantly up into Siegmund’s face. ‘Isn’t it beautiful this morning?’ she added.

      Siegmund endured her wide, glad look for a moment, then he stooped and kissed her. He remained moving his hand in the pool, ashamed, and full of contradiction. He was at the bitter point of farewell; could see, beyond the glamour around him, the ugly building of his real life.

      ‘Isn’t the sea wonderful this morning?’ asked Helena, as she wrung the water from her costume.

      ‘It is very fine,’ he answered. He refrained from saying what his heart said: ‘It is my last morning; it is not yours. It is my last morning, and the sea is enjoying the joke, and you are full of delight.’

      ‘Yes,’ said Siegmund, ‘the morning is perfect.’

      ‘It is,’ assented Helena warmly. ‘Have you noticed the waves? They are like a line of children chased by a white dog.’

      ‘Ay!’ said Siegmund.

      ‘Didn’t you have a good time?’ she asked, touching with her finger-tips the nape of his neck as he stooped beside her.

      ‘I swam to my little bay again,’ he replied.

      ‘Did you?’ she exclaimed, pleased.

      She sat down by the pool, in which she washed her feet free from sand, holding them to Siegmund to dry.

      ‘I am very hungry,’ she said.

      ‘And I,’ he agreed.

      ‘I feel quite established here,’ she said gaily, something in his position having reminded her of their departure.

      He laughed.

      ‘It seems another eternity before the three-forty-five train, doesn’t it?’ she insisted.

      ‘I wish we might never go back,’ he said.

      Helena sighed.

      ‘It would be too much for life to give. We have had something, Siegmund,’ she said.

      He bowed his head, and did not answer.

      ‘It has been something, dear,’ she repeated.

      He rose and took her in his arms.

      ‘Everything,’ he said, his face muffled in the shoulder of her dress. He could smell her fresh and fine from the sea. ‘Everything!’ he said.

      She pressed her two hands on his head.

      ‘I did well, didn’t I, Siegmund?’ she asked. Helena felt the responsibility of this holiday. She had proposed it; when he had withdrawn, she had insisted, refusing to allow him to take back his word, declaring that she should pay the cost. He permitted her at last.

      ‘Wonderfully well, Helena,’ he replied.

      She kissed his forehead.

      ‘You are everything,’ he said.

      She pressed his head on her bosom.

      Chapter 18

       Table of Contents

      Siegmund had shaved and dressed, and come down to breakfast. Mrs Curtiss brought in the coffee. She was a fragile little woman, of delicate, gentle manner.

      ‘The water would be warm this morning,’ she said, addressing no one in particular.

      Siegmund stood on the hearth-rug with his hands behind him, swaying from one leg to the other. He was embarrassed always by the presence of the amiable little woman; he could not feel at ease before strangers, in his capacity of accepted swain of Helena.

      ‘It was,’ assented Helena. ‘It was as warm as new milk.’

      ‘Ay, it would be,’ said the old lady, looking in admiration upon the experience of Siegmund and his beloved. ‘And did ye see the ships of war?’ she asked.

      ‘No, they had gone,’ replied Helena.

      Siegmund swayed from foot to foot, rhythmically.

      ‘You’ll be coming in to dinner today?’ asked the old lady.

      Helena arranged the matter.

      ‘I think ye both look better,’ Mrs. Curtiss said. She glanced at Siegmund.

      He smiled constrainedly.

      ‘I thought ye looked so worn when you came,’ she said sympathetically.

      ‘He had been working hard,’ said Helena, also glancing at him.

      He bent his head, and was whistling without making any sound.

      ‘Ay,’ sympathized the little woman. ‘And it’s a very short time for you. What a pity ye can’t stop for the fireworks at Cowes on Monday. They are grand, so they say.’

      Helena raised her eyebrows in polite interest. ‘Have you never seen them?’ she asked.

      ‘No,’ replied Mrs. Curtiss. ‘I’ve never been able to get; but I hope to go yet.’

      ‘I hope you may,’ said Siegmund.

      The little woman beamed on him. Having won a word from him, she was quite satisfied.

      ‘Well,’ she said brightly, ‘the eggs must be done by now.’

      She tripped out, to return directly.

      ‘I’ve brought you,’ she said, ‘some of the Island cream, and some white currants, if ye’ll have them. You must think well of the Island, and come back.’

      ‘How could we help?’ laughed Helena.

      ‘We will,’ smiled Siegmund.

      When finally the door was closed on her, Siegmund sat down in relief. Helena looked in amusement at him. She was perfectly self-possessed in presence of the delightful little lady.

      ‘This is one of the few places that has ever felt like home to me,’ she said. She lifted a tangled bunch of fine white currants.

      ‘Ah!’ exclaimed Siegmund, smiling at her.

      ‘One of the few places where everything is friendly,’ she said. ‘And everybody.’

      ‘You have made so many enemies?’ he asked, with gentle irony.

      ‘Strangers,’ she replied. ‘I seem to make strangers of all the people I meet.’

      She laughed in amusement at this mot. Siegmund looked at her intently. He was thinking of her left alone amongst strangers.

      ‘Need we go — need we leave

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