‘Hepburn, Hepburn! tell her—–­’ what he added Philip could not hear, for the words were lost before they reached him in the outward noise of the regular splash of the oars and the rush of the wind down the gully, with which mingled the closer sound that filled his ears of his own hurrying blood surging up into his brain.  He was conscious that he had said something in reply to Kinraid’s adjuration that he would deliver his message to Sylvia, at the very time when Carter had stung him into fresh anger by the allusion to the possibility of the specksioneer’s ‘running after other girls,’ for, for an instant, Hepburn had been touched by the contrast of circumstances.  Kinraid an hour or two ago,—­Kinraid a banished man; for in those days, an impressed sailor might linger out years on some foreign station, far from those he loved, who all this time remained ignorant of his cruel fate.

But Hepburn began to wonder what he himself had said—­how much of a promise he had made to deliver those last passionate words of Kinraid’s.  He could not recollect how much, how little he had said; he knew he had spoken hoarsely and low almost at the same time as Carter had uttered his loud joke.  But he doubted if Kinraid had caught his words.

And then the dread Inner Creature, who lurks in each of our hearts, arose and said, ’It is as well:  a promise given is a fetter to the giver.  But a promise is not given when it has not been received.’

At a sudden impulse, he turned again towards the shore when he had crossed the bridge, and almost ran towards the verge of the land.  Then he threw himself down on the soft fine turf that grew on the margin of the cliffs overhanging the sea, and commanding an extent of view towards the north.  His face supported by his hands, he looked down upon the blue rippling ocean, flashing here and there, into the sunlight in long, glittering lines.  The boat was still in the distance, making her swift silent way with long regular bounds to the tender that lay in the offing.

Hepburn felt insecure, as in a nightmare dream, so long as the boat did not reach her immediate destination.  His contracted eyes could see four minute figures rowing with ceaseless motion, and a fifth sate at the helm.  But he knew there was a sixth, unseen, lying, bound and helpless, at the bottom of the boat; and his fancy kept expecting this man to start up and break his bonds, and overcome all the others, and return to the shore free and triumphant.

It was by no fault of Hepburn’s that the boat sped well away; that she was now alongside the tender, dancing on the waves; now emptied of her crew; now hoisted up to her place.  No fault of his! and yet it took him some time before he could reason himself into the belief that his mad, feverish wishes not an hour before—­his wild prayer to be rid of his rival, as he himself had scrambled onward over the rocks alongside of Kinraid’s path on the sands—­had not compelled the event.