From somewhere on shore there came the sound of a clock striking the hour in clear bell-like notes.  One, two, three!  And then silence, with the murmur and splash of the rising tide spreading all around.

And then suddenly out of the utter quietness there came a sound—­the scuttle of scampering feet and an eager whining at the door behind her.  It stabbed like a needle through her lethargy.  In a moment she was on her feet.

The door burst in upon her as she opened it, and immediately she was sprung upon and almost borne backwards by the wriggling, ecstatic figure of Columbus.  He flung himself into her arms with yelps of extravagant joy, as if they had been parted for months instead of hours, and when, somewhat overwhelmed with this onslaught, she sat down with him on the couch, he scrambled all over her, licking wildly whatever part of her his tongue could reach.

It took some time for his rapturous greetings to subside, but finally he dropped upon the couch beside her, pressed to her, temporarily exhausted, but still wriggling spasmodically whenever her hand moved upon him.  And then Juliet, for some odd reason that she could not have explained, found herself crying in the darkness as she had not cried all through that night of anguish.

Columbus was deeply concerned.  He crept closer to her, pawed at her gently, stood up and licked her hair.  But she wept on helplessly for many seconds with her hands over her face.

It was Columbus who told her by a sudden change of attitude that someone had entered at the open door and was standing close to her in the dark.  She started upright very swiftly as the dog jumped down to welcome the intruder.  Vaguely through the dimness she saw a figure and leapt to her feet, her hands tight clasped upon her racing heart.

“Charles!  Why have you come here?”

There was an instant of stillness, then a swift movement and a man’s arms caught her as she stood and she was a prisoner.

She made a wild struggle for freedom.  “No—­no!” she panted.  “Let me go!”

But he held her fast,—­so fast that she gasped and gasped for breath,—­saying no word, only holding her, till suddenly she cried out sharply and her resistance broke.

She hid her face against him.  “You!” she said.  “You!”

He held her yet in silence for a space, and through the silence she heard the beat of his heart; quick and hard, as if he had been running a race.  Then over her bowed head he spoke, his voice deep, vibrant, seeming to hold back some inner leaping force.

“Didn’t I tell you I should follow you—­and bring you back?”

She shrank at his words.  “I can’t come—­I can’t come!” she said.

“You will come, Juliet,” he said quietly.

“No—­no!” She lifted her head in sudden passionate protest.  “Not to be tortured!  I can’t face it!  Before God I would rather—­I would rather—­die!”