of
manhood?"

A moment later the hoof beats of his horse died away up the shore.

Magdalen Crawford lingered on the point until the last dull red faded
out into the violet gloom of the June sea dusk, than which nothing can
be rarer or diviner, and listened to the moan and murmur of the sea
far out over the bay with sorrowful eyes and sternly set lips.

The next day, when the afternoon sun hung hot and heavy over the
water, Esterbrook Elliott came again to the Cove. He found it
deserted. A rumour of mackerel had come, and every boat had sailed
out in the rose-red dawn to the fishing grounds. But down on a strip
of sparkling yellow sand he saw Magdalen Crawford standing, her hand
on the rope that fastened a small white dory to the fragment of a
half-embedded wreck.

She was watching a huddle of gulls clustered on the tip of a narrow,
sandy spit running out to the left. She turned at the sound of his
hurried foot-fall behind her. Her face paled slightly, and into the
depths of her eyes leapt a passionate, mesmeric glow that faded as
quickly as it came.

"You see I have come back in spite of your command, Magdalen."

"I do see it," she answered in a gravely troubled voice. "You are a
madman who refuses to be warned."

"Where are you going, Magdalen?" She had loosened the rope from the
wreck.

"I am going to row over to Chapel Point for salt. They think the boats
will come in tonight loaded with mackerel--look at them away out there
by the score--and salt will be needed."

"Can you row so far alone?"

"Easily. I learned to row long ago--for a pastime then. Since coming
here I find it of great service to me."

She stepped lightly into the tiny shallop and picked up an oar. The
brilliant sunshine streamed about her, burnishing the rich tints of
her hair into ruddy gold. She balanced herself to the swaying of the
dory with the grace of a sea bird. The man looking at her felt his
brain reel.

"Good-bye, Mr. Elliott."

For answer he sprang into the dory and, snatching an oar, pushed
against the old wreck with such energy that the dory shot out from the
shore like a foam bell. His sudden spring had set it rocking
violently. Magdalen almost lost her footing and caught blindly at his
arm. As her fingers closed on his wrist a thrill as of fire shot
through his every vein.

"Why have you done this, Mr. Elliott? You must go back."

"But I will not," he said masterfully, looking straight into her eyes
with an impe