e her; no ears but his can
hear. She flings herself in a passion of despair upon her knees before
him, and encircles him with her arms.

"My darling! My best beloved, stay with me!" she cries, wildly. "Hate
me--spurn me--live--_live_! that sea will tear you from me--it will
kill--"

Stooping over her, with a very gentle movement, but with determination,
he unclasps her clinging arms and raises her to her feet.

"You must not kneel there on the wet sand," he says, quietly; "and
forgive me if I remind you of it, but you will not care to remember all
this to-morrow."

"I shall not remember it to-morrow," replies she, in a strange, dreamy
tone, her hands falling nerveless at her sides. She does not seek to
touch or persuade him again, only gazes earnestly up at him, through the
wretched mist that enshrouds them, with a face that is as the faces of
the dead.

Upon his arm is a shawl one of the women below (he is very dearly
beloved in the village) had forced upon him an hour ago. He is bringing
it back now to return it to her before starting, but, a thought striking
him, he unfolds it, and crosses it over Portia's bosom.

"One of the women down there lent it to me," he says, coldly still, but
kindly. "Return it to her when you can."

With a little passionate gesture she flings it from her, letting it lie
on the ground at her feet.

"It is too late--the coldness of death is upon me," she says,
vehemently. Then in an altered tone, calmed by despair, she whispers,
slowly, "Fabian, if you _will_ die--forgive me first?"

"If there is anything to forgive, I have done so long ago. But there is
nothing."

"Is there nothing in the thought that I love you, either? Has not this
knowledge power to drag you back from the grave?"

"'Too late for the balm when the heart is broke,'"

quotes he, sadly.

"And yet you loved me once," she says, quickly.

"I love you now as I never loved you," returns he, with sudden, eager
passion. Her arms are round his neck, her head is thrown back, her
lovely eyes, almost terrible now in their intensity, are gazing into
his. Instinctively his arms close around her--he bends forward.

A shout from the beach! The boat is launched, and they only await him to
go upon their perilous journey. When death is near, small things of
earth grow even less.

"They call me! All is over now between us," he murmurs, straining her to
his heart. Then he puts her a little away from him--still hold