u, whom I saved from the
sea--to love me."

There was something so sweet and infinitely tender about her words,
instinct as they were with natural womanly passion, that Geoffrey
bent at heart beneath their weight as a fir bends beneath the gentle,
gathering snow. What was he to do, how could he leave her? And yet she
was right. He must go, and go quickly, lest his strength might fail
him, and hand in hand they should pass a bourne from which there is no
return.

"Heaven help us, Beatrice," he said. "I will go to-morrow morning and,
if I can, I will keep away."

"You _must_ keep away. I will not see you any more. I will not bring
trouble on you, Geoffrey."

"You talk of bringing trouble on me," he said; "you say nothing of
yourself, and yet a man, even a man with eyes on him like myself, is
better fitted to weather such a storm. If it ruined me, how much more
would it ruin you?"

They were at the gate of the Vicarage now, and the wind rushed so
strongly through the firs that she needed to put her lips quite close to
his ear to make her words heard.

"Stop, one minute," she said, "perhaps you do not quite understand. When
a woman does what I have done, it is because she loves with all her
life and heart and soul, because all these are a part of her love. For
myself, I no longer care anything--I have _no_ self away from you; I
have ceased to be of myself or in my own keeping. I am of you and in
yours. For myself and my own fate or name I think no more; with my eyes
open and of my own free will I have given everything to you, and am glad
and happy to give it. But for you I still do care, and if I took any
step, or allowed you to take any that could bring sorrow on you, I
should never forgive myself. That is why we must part, Geoffrey. And now
let us go in; there is nothing more to say, except this: if you wish
to bid me good-bye, a last good-bye, dear Geoffrey, I will meet you
to-morrow morning on the beach."

"I shall leave at half-past eight," he said hoarsely.

"Then we will meet at seven," Beatrice said, and led the way into the
house.

Elizabeth and Mr. Granger were already seated at supper. They supped at
nine on Sunday nights; it was just half-past.

"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "we began to think that you two must
have been out canoeing and got yourselves drowned in good earnest this
time. What have you been doing?"

"We have had a long walk," answered Geoffrey; "I did not know that it
was so l