ent in, groping, pleading.
"Dearest--please! Because I love you!"

I heard her speak down near the floor. There wasn't any anger in her
voice; nothing but sadness and despair.

"No," said she. "You don't love me, Ray. You never have."

"I do! I have!"

"No, no," said she, as if she was tired out.

"Where are you?" I was groping for her. I thought, and lit a match. She
had got to the door and was standing there as if ready to fly. I went
toward her, and she made me stop. She took my breath away. "I hurt your
arms," said I, in a dream.

"No," said she, hardly moving her lips. She held them out to the match's
light for me to look and there was never a scar on them--not even that
soft, golden down was singed, sir. "You can't hurt my body," said she,
sad as anything. "Only my heart, Ray; my poor heart."

I tell you again, she took my breath away. I lit another match. "How can
you be so beautiful?" I wondered.

She answered in riddles--but oh, the sadness of her, sir.

"Because," said she, "I've always so wanted to be."

"How come your eyes so heavy?" said I.

"Because I've seen so many things I never dreamed of," said she.

"How come your hair so thick?"

"It's the seaweed makes it thick," said she smiling queer, queer.

"How come seaweed there?"

"Out of the bottom of the sea."

She talked in riddles, but it was like poetry to hear her, or a song.

"How come your lips so red?" said I.

"Because they've wanted so long to be kissed."

Fire was on me, sir. I reached out to catch her, but she was gone, out
of the door and down the stair. I followed, stumbling. I must have
tripped on the turn, for I remember going through the air and fetching
up with a crash, and I didn't know anything for a spell--how long I
can't say. When I came to, she was there, somewhere, bending over me,
crooning, "My love--my love--" under her breath like, a song.

But then when I got up, she was not where my arms went; she was down the
stair again, just ahead of me. I followed her. I was tottering and dizzy
and full of pain. I tried to catch up with her in the dark of the
store-room, but she was too quick for me, sir, always a little too quick
for me. Oh, she was cruel to me, sir. I kept bumping against things,
hurting myself still worse, and it was cold and wet and a horrible noise
all the while, sir; and then, sir, I found the door was open, and a sea
had parted the hinges.

I don't know how it all went, sir. I'd tell you if