"Harry!" I heard her call, and turned quickly. "Harry, wait!"

She came hurrying up toward me. I felt my color rise. Awkwardly, I

stood waiting, and did not greet her. I cast a quick glance the other

way down the beach. It would be a hundred yards before the first bend

of the shore-line would carry us behind the tall rushes. Meantime, we

were in full sight of all.

Partial, who had followed me when I whistled, now greeted her more

joyously than did his master.

"Yes?" said I dully; "I suppose you came to take away my dog from me,

didn't you? It was all that was left."

"Of course," said she coloring. "I didn't know but what Partial might

be hungry."

"It is I who am hungry, Helena," said I. "I have long been hungry--for

a look, a word."

She did not smile, showed not any trace of coquetry in her mien, but

paced on with me now down the beach. I suppose she knew when we had

turned the point of rushes, for now she laid her hand on my rough

canvas sleeve. It must have cost her effort to do that.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?" said she after a time, since I still

remained moodily staring ahead. I did not answer, would not look at

her for a time, but at length she turned. She stood, I say, with her

hand on my arm, her chin raised fully, her serious eyes fixed on me.

The dark hair was blown all about her face. She had on over her long

white sweater a loose silk waterproof of some sort, which blew every

way, but did not disturb the lines of her tall figure, nor lessen the

pale red and white which the sea breeze had stung into her cheeks. She

did not smile, and her eyes, I say, looked steadily and seriously into

mine.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, frowning slightly, as it seemed to

me.

"Everything in the world is wrong with me, as you know very well,"

said I. "Am I not a poor man? Am I not an unsuccessful lover? Am I not

a failure under every test which you can apply? Am I not a coward--did

you not tell me so yourself?"

Her eyes grew damp slowly. "I didn't mean it," said she.

"Then why did you say it?"

"It was long before--that was before last night, Harry. You forget."

"What if it was?" I demanded. "I was the same man then that I was last

night."

"I didn't mean it, Harry," said she, her voice low. Her hand was still

on my arm. Her eye now was cast down, the tip of her toe was tracing a

circle on the wet sand where we stood.




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