in a hollow, they could see the low, suspended intertwining of the birds
passing in and out of the cliff shelter.

These savage birds appealed to all the poetry and yearning in Helena.
They fascinated her, they almost voiced her. She crept nearer and nearer
the edge, feeling she must watch the gulls thread out in flakes of white
above the weed-black rocks. Siegmund stood away back, anxiously. He
would not dare to tempt Fate now, having too strong a sense of death
to risk it.

'Come back, dear. Don't go so near,' he pleaded, following as close as
he might. She heard the pain and appeal in his voice. It thrilled her,
and she went a little nearer. What was death to her but one of her
symbols, the death of which the sagas talk--something grand, and
sweeping, and dark.

Leaning forward, she could see the line of grey sand and the line of
foam broken by black rocks, and over all the gulls, stirring round like
froth on a pot, screaming in chorus.

She watched the beautiful birds, heard the pleading of Siegmund, and she
thrilled with pleasure, toying with his keen anguish.

Helena came smiling to Siegmund, saying:

'They look so fine down there.'

He fastened his hands upon her, as a relief from his pain. He was filled
with a keen, strong anguish of dread, like a presentiment. She laughed
as he gripped her.