released in her such a flood of emotion as was utterly beyond her
control, she broke into violent weeping, her head bowed low upon her
knees.

"My dear!" he said.

And then--how it came about neither of them ever knew--he was on his
knees beside her, holding her close in his great arms, and she was
sobbing out her agony upon his breast.

It lasted for many minutes that storm of weeping. All the torment of
humiliation and grief, which till then had found no relief, was poured
out in that burning torrent of tears. She clung to him convulsively as
though she even yet struggled in the deep waters, and he held her
through it all with that sustaining strength that had borne her up
safely against the Death Current on that night of dreadful storm.

Possibly the firm upholding of his arms brought back the memory of that
former terrible struggle, for it was of that that she first spoke when
speech became possible.

"Oh, why didn't you leave me to die? Why--why--why?"

He answered her in a voice that seemed to rise from the depths of the
broad chest that supported her.

"I wanted you."

She buried her face deeper that he might not see the cruel burning of
it. "So did he--then."