Delafield hung over the surging water in a strange exaltation, half physical, half moral.  The wild salt strength and savor of the sea breathed something akin to that passionate force of will which had impelled him to the enterprise in which he stood.  No mere man of the world could have dared it; most men of the world, as he was well aware, would have condemned or ridiculed it.  But for one who saw life and conduct sub specie aeternitatis it had seemed natural enough.

The wind blew fierce and cold.  He made his way back to Julie’s side.  To his surprise, she had raised herself and was sitting propped up against the corner of the seat, her veil thrown back.

“You are better?” he said, stooping to her, so as to be heard against the boom of the waves.  “This rough weather does not affect you?”

She made a negative sign.  He drew his camp-stool beside her.  Suddenly she asked him what time it was.  The haggard nobleness of her pale face amid the folds of black veil, the absent passion of the eye, thrilled to his heart.  Where were her thoughts?

“Nearly four o’clock.”  He drew out his watch.  “You see it is beginning to lighten,”

And he pointed to the sky, in which that indefinable lifting of the darkness which precedes the dawn was taking place, and to the far distances of sea, where a sort of livid clarity was beginning to absorb and vanquish that stormy play of alternate dark and moonlight which had prevailed when they left the French shore.

He had hardly spoken, when he felt that her eyes were fixed upon him.

To look at his watch, he had thrown open his long Newmarket coat, forgetting that in so doing he disclosed the evening-dress in which he had robed himself at the Hotel du Rhin for his friend’s dinner at the Cafe Gaillard.

He hastily rebuttoned his coat, and turned his face seaward once more.  But he heard her voice, and was obliged to come close to her that he might catch the words.

“You have given me your wraps,” she said, with difficulty.  “You will suffer.”

“Not at all.  You have your own rug, and one that the captain provided.  I keep myself quite warm with moving about.”

There was a pause.  His mind began to fill with alarm.  He was not of the men who act a part with ease; but, having got through so far, he had calculated on preserving his secret.

Flight was best, and he was just turning away when a gesture of hers arrested him.  Again he stooped till their faces were near enough to let her voice reach him.

“Why are you in evening-dress?”

“I had intended to dine with a friend.  There was not time to change.”

“Then you did not mean to cross to-night?”

He delayed a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

“Not when I dressed for dinner, but some sudden news decided me.”

Her head fell back wearily against the support behind it.  The eyes closed, and he, thinking she would perhaps sleep, was about to rise from his seat, when the pressure of her hand upon his arm detained him.  He sat still and the hand was withdrawn.