In spite of the peril they had encountered, and their present discomfort and perplexity, Greenleaf now experienced an indescribable pleasure.  Marcia was exhausted with fatigue and terror, and rested her head upon his shoulder.  Unconsciously, he used the cheering, caressing tones which the circumstances naturally prompted.  It was an occasion to draw out what was most manly, most tender, most chivalric in him.  The pride of the woman was gone, her artifices forgotten.  In that hour she had looked beyond the factitious distinctions of society; she had found herself face to face with her companion without disguise, as spirit looks upon spirit, and she felt herself drawn to him by the loyalty which a superior nature inevitably inspires.

A slight movement of the boat caused Greenleaf to turn his head.  Just behind him there was a shelf not three feet above the gunwale; beyond that was a second step, and still farther a winding fissure.  After measuring the distances again with his eye, to be sure that he should raise no illusive hope, he pointed out to Marcia the way of escape.  Their conversation had naturally taken an affectionate turn, and Greenleaf’s delicate courtesy and hardly ambiguous words had raised a tumult in her bosom which could no longer be repressed.  She flung herself into his arms, and with tears exclaimed,—­

“Dear George, you have saved my life!  It is yours!  Take me!”

The rush of emotion swept away the last barrier; he yielded to the impulse; he clasped her fondly in his arms and gave his heart and soul to her keeping.  Carefully he assisted her up by the way he had found, and when at last they reached the top of the cliff, both fell on their knees in gratitude to Heaven for their preservation.  Then new embraces and protestations.  Rain and salt spray, hunger and fatigue, were of little moment in that hour.

Near the cliff stood a gentleman’s villa, and to that they now hastened to procure dry clothing before returning home.  They found the welcome hospitality they expected, and after rest and refreshment started to walk to Swampscot, where they could obtain a carriage for Nahant.  But at the gate they met Easelmann and Mrs. Sandford, who, alarmed at their long absence, had driven in a barouche along the coast in hope of hearing some tidings of the boat.

The wanderers were overwhelmed with congratulations, mingled with deserved reproofs for their rashness in venturing forth without their pilot.  On the way home, Greenleaf told the story which the reader already knows, omitting only some few passages.  Easelmann turned and said, with a meaning emphasis,—­

“I thought so.  I thought what would happen.  You aren’t drowned, to be sure; but some people can’t be drowned; better for them, if they could!”

Greenleaf made no reply to the brusque sarcasm, but drew Marcia closer to his side.  He could not talk after such an adventure, especially while in contact with the woman for whom he had risked so much.