ak, he moved to her side and stood there. At last, slowly
and massively, he stooped and touched her.

"Columbine!"

She made no direct response, only suddenly, as if his action had
released in her such a flood of emotion as was utterly beyond her
control, she broke into violent weeping, her head bowed low upon her
knees.

"My dear!" he said.

And then--how it came about neither of them ever knew--he was on his
knees beside her, holding her close in his great arms, and she was
sobbing out her agony upon his breast.

It lasted for many minutes that storm of weeping. All the torment of
humiliation and grief, which till then had found no relief, was poured
out in that burning torrent of tears. She clung to him convulsively as
though she even yet struggled in the deep waters, and he held her
through it all with that sustaining strength that had borne her up
safely against the Death Current on that night of dreadful storm.

Possibly the firm upholding of his arms brought back the memory of that
former terrible struggle, for it was of that that she first spoke when
speech became possible.

"Oh, why didn't you leave me to die? Why--why--why?"

He answered her in a voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the
broad chest that supported her.

"I wanted you."

She buried her face deeper that he might not see the cruel burning of
it. "So did he--then."

"Not he!" The deep voice held unutterable contempt. "He wanted to make
his fortune out of you, that's all. He didn't care whether you lived or
died, the damn' cur!"

She shrank at the fierce words, and was instantly aware of the jealous
closing of his arms about her.

"You aren't going to break your heart for a dirty swab like that," he
said, with more of insistence than interrogation in his voice. "Look you
here, Columbine! You're too honest to care for a beast like that.
Why--though I pulled him out of the quicksand and saved him from the
sea--I'd have wrung his neck if he'd stayed another day. I would that."

She started at the fiery declaration, and raised her head. "Oh, it was
you who sent him away, then?"

Her look held almost desperate entreaty for a moment, but he met it with
the utmost grimness and it quickly died.

"I didn't then," he said, with rough simplicity. "He made up his mind
without any help from me. He knew he couldn't face you again. It's not a
mite of good trying to deceive yourself now you know the truth. He's
gone, and he won't come