imself on it, but some three or four feet away.
Elizabeth thrust her white face forward till it was almost level with
the lips of the cleft rock and strained her ears to listen. Alas! she
could not hear a single word.

"You asked me to come here, Mr. Davies," said Beatrice, breaking the
painful silence. "I have come."

"Yes," he answered; "I asked you to come because I wanted to speak to
you."

"Yes?" said Beatrice, looking up from her occupation of digging little
holes in the sand with the point of her parasol. Her face was calm
enough, but her heart beat fast beneath her breast.

"I want to ask you," he said, speaking slowly and thickly, "if you will
be my wife?"

Beatrice opened her lips to speak, then, seeing that he had only paused
because his inward emotion checked his words, shut them again, and went
on digging little holes. She wished to rely on the whole case, as a
lawyer would say.

"I want to ask you," he repeated, "to be my wife. I have wished to do so
for some years, but I have never been able to bring myself to it. It is
a great step to take, and my happiness depends on it. Do not answer me
yet," he went on, his words gathering force as he spoke. "Listen to what
I have to tell you. I have been a lonely man all my life. At sea I was
lonely, and since I have come into this fortune I have been lonelier
still. I never loved anybody or anything till I began to love you.
And then I loved you more and more and more; till now I have only one
thought in all my life, and that thought is of you. While I am awake
I think of you, and when I am asleep I dream of you. Listen, Beatrice,
listen!--I have never loved any other woman, I have scarcely spoken to
one--only you, Beatrice. I can give you a great deal; and everything
I have shall be yours, only I should be jealous of you--yes, very
jealous!"

Here she glanced at his face. It was outwardly calm but white as death,
and in the blue eyes, generally so placid, shone a fire that by contrast
looked almost unholy.

"I think that you have said enough, Mr. Davies," Beatrice answered. "I
am very much obliged to you. I am much honoured, for in some ways I am
not your equal, but I do not love you, and I cannot marry you, and
I think it best to tell you so plainly, once and for all," and
unconsciously she went on digging the holes.

"Oh, do not say that," he answered, almost in a moan. "For God's sake
don't say that! It will kill me to lose you. I think I should go m