*

She knew now that she was Justin's and he was hers until the end of
time. By all the white wonder of her thoughts she knew it. By all the
quickened blood in her beating heart. What she had felt for Anthony was
the affection of an unawakened nature--she had given him gratitude,
friendship--but between them were the years across which she must look
somewhat timidly; between them was his sadness, which oppressed her, and
his profession, which she feared.

But here was youth, which she understood, and romance, for which she had
longed, and love at white-heat.

Thus, as she soared with Justin, she forgot past promises and future
judgments, and whispered, "It is true----"

After that they talked in the language of youth and love.

"Do you know how pretty you are?"

"You think that I am pretty because you--like me."

"I think it because I--love you."

The echo of their light laughter went trailing after them as the song of
a lark trails through the blue.

Softly, at last, Justin brought his shining ship down to the surface of
a little bay.

Two men at work on the beach came out in a dory in answer to his call.

They were eager and curious, and glad to tow the queer craft into
shallow water, to make it fast, and to watch it for a time.

"We will walk about for a bit," Justin said to Bettina, "and go back at
sunset."

Bettina demurred. "It's really late now," she said, with her eyes on the
eastern horizon, where the first gray haze of twilight was beginning to
gather.

"Look the other way. There's all the gold of the west, and it won't be
dark for hours."

"But Sophie will worry."

"She will think you're with Anthony--he's nice and safe."

"Perhaps some one will have seen us, and have told her, and anyhow, I
must get back for dinner."

"Any one may eat a dinner, but for you and me there may never be another
moment like this!"

Following a steep path they came presently to a curious and lonely spot.
Here was an ancient burying place. On a rocky headland, overlooking the
entrance to the harbor and the wide sweep of the sea beyond, the first
dead of the colony had been buried; here lay the forefathers of the
town. Many of the stones had fallen; others stood sturdily where they
had stood for centuries. Strange old stones they were, of gray slate,
etched with forbidding symbols of skulls and crossbones.

In one corner was a monument of later erection. It had to do with the
memory of more than a hundred