they kissed each other frankly, and
forgot their danger for a blissful interval.

They were keeping their foothold with difficulty now. The last heave
of the tide came up to Beth's shoulder, and took her breath away. Had
it not been for the support of the cliff behind them, they could not
have kept their position many minutes. But the cliff itself was a
danger, for the sea was eating into it, and might bring down another
mass of it at any moment. The agony of death, the last struggle with
the water, had begun.

"I hate it," Beth gasped, "but I'm not afraid."

The steady gentle heave of the sea was like the breathing of a placid
sleeper. It rose round them once more, up, up, over Beth's head. They
clung closer to each other and to the cliff, staggering and fighting
for their foothold. Then it sank back from them, then slowly came
again, rising in an irregular wavy line all along the face of the
cliffs with a sobbing sound as if in its great heart it shrank from
the cruel deed it was doing--rose and fell, rose and fell again.

Alfred's face was grey and distorted. He groaned aloud.

"Are you suffering?" Beth exclaimed. "Oh, I wish it was over."

She had really the more to suffer of the two, for every wave nearly
covered her; but her nerve and physique were better than his, and her
will was of iron. The only thing that disturbed her fortitude were the
signs of distress from him.

Gently, gently the water came creeping up and up again. It had swelled
so high the last time that Beth was all but gone; and now she held her
breath, expecting for certain to be overwhelmed. But, after a pause,
it went down once more, then rose again, and again subsided.

Alfred stood with shut eyes and clenched teeth, blindly resisting.
Beth kept her wits about her.

"Alfred!" she cried on a sudden, "I was right! I was not deceived!
Stand fast! The tide is on the turn."

He opened his eyes and stared about him in a bewildered way. His face
was haggard and drawn from the strain, his strength all but exhausted;
he did not seem to understand.

"Hold on!" Beth cried again. "You'll be a big sculptor yet. The tide
has turned. It's going out, Alfred, it's going out. It washed an inch
lower last time. Keep up! Keep up! O Lord, help me to hold him! help
me to hold him! It's funny," she went on, changing with one of her
sudden strange transitions from the part of actor to that of
spectator, as it were. "It's funny we neither of us prayed. Peop