o-morrow," she
said, her voice so low as to be almost inaudible.

"No, not good-bye yet!" he cried imperiously. "You must let me take you
up the cliff to-day. It may be--I suppose it is--the last time I shall
be able to do so."

Hardly waiting for her murmured word of assent, he led the way up the
steep, ladder-like stairway cut in the cliff side; half-way up there
were some very long steps, and it was from above that help could best be
given. He longed with a fierce, aching longing that she would allow him
to take her two hands in his and draw her up those high, precipitous
steps. But of late Claire had avoided accepting from him, her friend,
this simple, trifling act of courtesy. And now twice he turned and held
out a hand, and twice she pretended not to see it.

At last, within ten feet of the top of the cliff, they came to the
steepest, rudest step of all--a place some might have thought very
dangerous.

Commander Dupre bent down and looked into Claire's uplifted face. "Let
me at least help you up here," he said hoarsely.

She shook her head obstinately--but suddenly he felt her tremulous lips
touch his lean, sinewy hand, and her hot tears fall upon his fingers.

He gave a strangled cry of pain and of pride, of agony and of rapture,
and for a long moment he battled with an awful temptation. How easy it
would be to gather her into his arms, and, with her face hidden on his
breast, take a great leap backwards into nothingness....

But he conquered the persuasive devil who had been raised--women do not
know how easy it is to rouse this devil--by Claire's moment of piteous
self-revelation.

And at last they stood together on the narrow platform where she, less
than an hour ago, had stood alone.

Sheltered by the friendly, ugly red walls of the little tower, they were
as remote from their kind as if on a rock in the midst of the sea. More,
she was in his power in a sense she had never been before, for she had
herself broken down the fragile barrier with which she had hitherto
known how to keep him at bay. But he felt rather than saw that it was
herself she would despise if now, at the eleventh hour, he took
advantage of that tremulous kiss of renunciation, of those hot tears of
anguished parting--and so--"Then at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning?"
he said, and he felt as if it was some other man, not he himself, who
was saying the words. He took her hand in farewell--so much he could
allow himself--and all unk