ridge, hurried round to the front. There the wind caught them, wet and
furious; the water raged below. Between the two Helena shrank, wilted.
She took hold of Siegmund. The great, brutal wave flung itself at the
rock, then drew back for another heavy spring. Fume and spray were spun
on the wind like smoke. The roaring thud of the waves reminded Helena of
a beating heart. She clung closer to him, as her hair was blown out
damp, and her white dress flapped in the wet wind. Always, against the
rock, came the slow thud of the waves, like a great heart beating under
the breast. There was something brutal about it that she could not bear.
She had no weapon against brute force.

She glanced up at Siegmund. Tiny drops of mist greyed his eyebrows. He
was looking out to sea, screwing up his eyes, and smiling brutally. Her
face became heavy and sullen. He was like the heart and the brute sea,
just here; he was not her Siegmund. She hated the brute in him.

Turning suddenly, she plunged over the shingle towards the wide,
populous bay. He remained alone, grinning at the smashing turmoil,
careless of her departure. He would easily catch her.

When at last he turned from the wrestling water, he had spent his
savagery, and was sad. He could never take part in the great battle of
action. It was beyond him. Many things he had let slip by. His life was
whittled down to only a few interests, only a few necessities. Even
here, he had but Helena, and through her the rest. After this
week--well, that was vague. He left it in the dark, dreading it.

And Helena was toiling over the rough beach alone. He saw her small
figure bowed as she plunged forward. It smote his heart with the keenest
tenderness. She was so winsome, a playmate with beauty and fancy. Why