leasure of exercising her right to open dealing with him,
outweighed the humiliation of her avowal.

Christopher seemed intent on his own affairs, however, for he asked
her abruptly if St. Michael or Caesar had told her the news.

"What news?"

"Something rather disconcerting has happened to me," he said slowly,
"but I'll tell you that presently. The most important thing now is
that I want to get married."

All the cold waters of the world closed over her head for a moment. It
was as if he had wrenched a plank from one drowning. She answered him,
however, in a low, mechanical voice:

"Soon, Christopher?"

"That will be for her to say, if she will have me at all."

"You have not asked her yet?"

"I am asking her."

She looked up at him, puzzled and incredulous of the apparent meaning.
Then suddenly he was on his knees by her side, with his strong arms
round her.

"My dear, my dear, surely you must know. Is there need for any words
between us? I've known so long all you must mean to me. Listen,
Patricia, you will have to forgive me a great thing. I've let outside
considerations, absurd ambitions, and the shadow of a lie, stand
between us. I've waited when I should have spoken. You _will_ forgive
me that, my dear one, will you not? I'm not humble a bit in asking. I
am so proud of the one great thing, that _I_ can give you, Love,--can
hold you and wrap you in it, so that nothing can hurt you any more.
You understand, you recognise my right, Patricia?"

She could say nothing, understand nothing, but the great peace of
perfect security. She let him hold her still, with her head against
his shoulder and his dear face near, so near she seemed to lose sense
of her own identity. All the answer to her life's riddle lay there,
behind the love that emptied her soul of need. Out of the blissful
unspeakable light some words vibrated into new meaning.

"There shall be no more sea."

It meant this then, this experience that was theirs. For him and her
there was no more tempest, no more restless craving or peril, all had
passed with the old incompleteness.

Still, she had not spoken audibly to him nor had he pressed her to do
so. Words were too imperfect a medium. But presently, when all had
been said in the silence that could be said, he touched her hair with
caressing hand and reminded her:

"You have never answered me, sweet."

She put her hand on his as it held her and whispered, "Have I not,
Christopher?"

An