She trembled as she spoke; her face—­to him more beautiful than ever—­was raised to his with a look of unutterable appeal.

“You are not angry, Norman?”

“No, I am not angry.  Do not speak to me as though I were a tyrant.  Angry—­and with you, Madaline—­always my best beloved—­how could that be?”

“I knew that you were here,” she said.  “I saw in a newspaper that you were going to Tintagel for the summer.  I had been longing to see you again—­to see you, while unseen myself so I came hither.”

“My dear Madaline, to what purpose?” he asked, sadly.

“I felt that if I did not look upon your face I should die—­that I could live no longer without seeing you.  Such a terrible fever seemed to be burning my very life away.  My heart yearned for the touch of your hand.  So I came.  You are not angry that I came?”

“No, not angry; but, my darling, it will be harder for us to part.”

“I have been here in Tintagel for two whole days,” she continued.  “I have seen you, but this is the first time you have gone where I could follow.  Now speak to me, Norman.  Say something to me that will cure my terrible pain—­that will take the weary aching from my heart.  Say something that will make me stronger to bear my desolate life—­braver to live without you.  You are wiser, better, stronger, braver than I. Teach me to bear my fate.”

What could he say?  Heaven help them both—­what could he say?  He looked with dumb, passionate sorrow into her fair loving face.

“You must not think it unwomanly in me to come,” she said.  “I am you wife—­there is no harm in my coming.  If I were not your wife, I would sooner have drowned myself than return after you had sent me away.”

Her face was suffused with a crimson blush.

“Norman,” she said gently, “sit down here by my side, and I will tell you why I have come.”

They sat down side by side on the beach.  There was only the wide blue sky above, only the wide waste of restless waters at their feet, only a circling sea-gull near—­no human being to watch the tragedy of love and pride played out by the sea Waves.

“I have come,” she said, “to make one more appeal to you, Norman—­to ask you to change this stern determination which is ruining your life and mine—­to ask you to take me back to your home and your heart.  For I have been thinking, dear, and I do not see that the obstacle is such as you seem to imagine.  It was a terrible wrong, a great disgrace—­it was a cruel deception, a fatal mistake; but, after all, it might be overlooked.  Moreover, Norman, when you made me your wife, did you not promise to love and to cherish, to protect me and make me happy until I died?”

“Yes,” he replied, briefly.

“Then how are you keeping that promise—­a promise made in the sight of Heaven?”

Lord Arleigh looked down at the fair, pure face, a strange light glowing in his own.