ustrous depths.

Then he went back, crushing his flimsy burden to his heart; and placing
it upon a rock near the sleeping girl, strode off to the opening of the
little connecting cove, where he stood in the shadows and called;

"Leonie! Are you there, Leonie?"

Leonie stirred, settled down again to sleep, and stirred each time the
voice rang insistently.

Who knows if love would have brought her back to consciousness and the
immediate necessity to rise and clothe herself, and flee for safety?

Anyway, the tide decided and sent a little wave that thoroughly
drenched her and brought her to her knees shivering and bewildered.

"Tide in!"

She glanced round hurriedly and drew her hand across her eyes.

"Funny!" she said as she retreated before a wave which surged over the
rocks and swirled up behind her. "But--why--I've nothing on! And my
arm!--why, I'm simply cut to bits. And--and oh! I've been
dreaming--and how dark it is; there must be a storm coming!"

As she spoke she hurriedly flung herself into her clothes, biting her
lips as the lace and ribbons caught in the horrible gash in her arm,
and was standing waiting for the water to recede before she jumped,
just as a voice as from heaven itself called.

"Leonie! where are you? Leonie, the tide is coming in!"

She did not wait, she jumped clear, stumbling and falling on the other
side, ripping her feet until they bled.

Then she got up and ran blindly, impelled by terror pursued by the fear
of something far more terrible than death.

"Jan! Jan! help me!"

Without a word he caught her and lifted her, holding her closely.

Never a word he said as they raced through from one cove to the other,
neither when the waters buffeted him nor when weeds twined about his
feet, and rocks impeded him.

Swiftly he carried her up the slight incline and laid her on the grass,
took off his coat, ripped out his shirt sleeve, and tearing it into
strips, bound up the bleeding arm.

Then sitting down beside her he leant over sideways and picked her up
bodily, clear from the ground into his arms; no mean feat with a toilet
jug full of water, let alone with a hefty maiden weighted with grief.

He held her in that heavenly, comforting clasp known and practised by
stout old nurses and some mothers, within which you feel that you can
defy anything, even to the onslaughts of peevish Fortune.

His left arm was under and round her shoulders, his left hand gently
pressed her