her nerves on edge. The moon and the water, which had soothed her, were
now an irritation. Keith heard her breath come and go, quickly, heavily.

"Sorry, Jenny," he said, in a tone of puzzled apology. She caught his
fallen hand, pressing it eagerly.

"It's nothing. Only that minute. Like somebody walking on my grave."

"You're cold. We'll go down to the cabin again." He was again cool and
unembarrassed. Together they stood upon the deck in the moonlight, while
the water flowed rapidly beneath them and the night's mystery emphasised
their remoteness from the rest of the world. They had no part, at this
moment, in the general life; but were solitary, living only to
themselves....

Keith's arm was about her as they descended; but he let it drop as they
stood once more in the golden-brown cabin. "Sit here!" He plumped a
cushion for her, and Jenny sank into an enveloping softness that rose
about her as water might have done, so that she might have been alarmed
if Keith had not been there looking down with such an expression of
concern.

"I'm really all right," she told him, reassuringly. "Miserable for a
tick--that's all!"

"Sure?" He seemed genuinely alarmed, scanning her face. She had again
turned sick and faint, so that her knees were without strength. Was he
sincere? If only she could have been sure of him. It meant everything in
the world to her. If only Keith would say he loved her: if only he would
kiss her! He had never done that. The few short days of their earlier