“Help me!” she cried, clinging to Henderson.  He put his arm around her, almost carrying her from sight into a little cove walled by high rocks at the back, while there was a clean floor of white sand, and logs washed from the lake for seats.  He found one of these with a back rest, and hurrying down to the water he soaked his handkerchief and carried it to her.  She passed it across her lips, over her eyes, and then pressed the palms of her hands upon it.  Henderson removed the heavy hat, fanned her with his, and wet the handkerchief again.

“Hart, what makes you?” she said wearily.  “My mother doesn’t care.  She says this is good for me.  Do you think this is good for me, Hart?”

“Edith, you know I would give my life if I could save you this,” he said, and could not speak further.

She leaned against him, closed her eyes and lay silent so long the man fell into panic.

“Edith, you are not unconscious?” he whispered, touching her.

“No, just resting.  Please don’t leave me.”

He held her carefully, gently fanning her.  She was suffering almost more than either of them could endure.

“I wish you had your boat,” she said at last.  “I want to sail with the wind in my face.”

“There is no wind.  I can bring my motor around in a few minutes.”

“Then get it.”

“Lie on the sand.  I can ’phone from the first booth.  It won’t take but a little while.”

Edith lay on the white sand, and Henderson covered her face with her hat.  Then he ran to the nearest booth and talked imperatively.  Presently he was back bringing a hot drink that was stimulating.  Shortly the motor ran close to the beach and stopped.  Henderson’s servant brought a row-boat ashore and took them to the launch.  It was filled with cushions and wraps.  Henderson made a couch and soon, warmly covered, Edith sped out over the water in search of peace.

Hour after hour the boat ran up and down the shore.  The moon arose and the night air grew very chilly.  Henderson put on an overcoat and piled more covers on Edith.

“You must take me home,” she said at last.  “The folks will be uneasy.”

He was compelled to take her to the cottage with the battle still raging.  He went back early the next morning, but already she had wandered out over the island.  Instinctively Henderson felt that the shore would attract her.  There was something in the tumult of rough little Huron’s waves that called to him.  It was there he found her, crouching so close the water the foam was dampening her skirts.

“May I stay?” he asked.

“I have been hoping you would come,” she answered.  “It’s bad enough when you are here, but it is a little easier than bearing it alone.”

“Thank God for that!” said Henderson sitting beside her.  “Shall I talk to you?”

She shook her head.  So they sat by the hour.  At last she spoke:  “Of course, you know there is something I have got to do, Hart!”