ncovered by the mist.

"When are you going?" she asked slowly, as if hating to meet the answer.

"To-night," said Claudius, still looking earnestly at her. The light was
gone from her eyes, and the flush had long sunk away to the heart whence
it had come.

"To-night?" she repeated, a little vaguely.

"Yes," he said, and waited; then after a moment, "Shall you mind when I
am gone?" He leaned towards her, earnestly looking into her face.

"Yes," said Margaret, "I shall be sorry." Her voice was kind, and very
gentle. Still she did not look at him. Claudius held out his right hand,
palm upward, to meet hers.

"Shall you mind much?" he asked earnestly, with intent eyes. She met his
hand and took it.

"Yes, I shall be very sorry." Claudius slipped from the rock where he
was sitting, and fell upon one knee before her, kissing the hand she
gave as though it had been the holy cross. He looked up, his face near
hers, and at last he met her eyes, burning with a startled light under
the black brows, contrasting with the white of her forehead, and face,
and throat. He looked one moment.

"Shall you really mind very much?" he asked a third time, in a strange,
lost voice. There was no answer, only the wet fog all around, and those
two beautiful faces ashy pale in the mist, and very near together. One
instant so--and then--ah, God! they have cast the die at last, for he
has wound his mighty arms about her, and is passionately kissing the
marble of her cheek.

"My beloved, my beloved, I love you--with, all my heart, and with all my
soul, and with all my strength"--but she speaks no word, only her arms
pass his and hang about his neck, and her dark head lies on his breast;
and could you but see her eyes, you would see also the fair pearls that
the little god has formed deep down in the ocean of love--the lashes
thereof are wet with sudden weeping. And all around them the deep, deaf
fog, thick and muffled as darkness, and yet not dark.

"Ugh!" muttered the evil genius of the sea, "I hate lovers; an' they
drown not, they shall have a wet wooing." And he came and touched them
all over with the clamminess of his deathly hand, and breathed upon them
the thick, cold breath of his damp old soul. But he could do nothing
against such love as that, and the lovers burned him and laughed him to
scorn.

She was very silent as she kissed him and laid her head on his breast.
And he could only repeat what was nearest, the credo of his love,