They met on the edge of the pool, but there was about the lesser form a
hesitancy of movement, a shyness, almost a wildness, that seemed as if
it would end in flight.

But the man remained quite motionless, and in a moment or two the
impulse passed or was controlled. Two quivering hands came forth to him
as if in supplication.

"So you are waiting!" a low voice said.

He took the hands, bending to her. The moonlight made his eyes gleam
with a strange intensity.

"I have been waiting a long time," he said.

Even then she made a small, fluttering movement backward, as if she
would evade him. And then with a sharp sob she conquered her reluctance
again. She gave herself into his arms.

He held her closely, passionately. He kissed her face, her neck, her
bosom, as if he would devour the sweetness of her in a few mad moments
of utter abandonment.

But in a little he checked himself. "You are so late, sweetheart. The
tide won't wait for us. There will be time for this--afterwards."

She lay burning and quivering against his heart. "There is tomorrow,"
she whispered, clinging to him.

He kissed her again. "Yes, there is tomorrow. But who can tell what may