But what stillness and peace seemed possible beneath this throbbing sea? I sighed as I listened to the sound of the waves and gazed at the great golden pathway of the moon across the silver waters. I knew that some one had followed me and stood timidly behind me: I guessed it was Helen, but did not know until a slim satin hand stole into mine, for surely it was not my mother's hand. Hers was warm and firm in its pressure: the touch of this was soft and cool like a rose-leaf. I held the hand close, but did not turn. "Floyd!" she whispered timidly, "dear Floyd!" "I hear you, Helen," I returned wearily. "Are you angry with me? Do not be angry." "I am only angry with myself: I am not behaving well to-night." She came in front of me and looked up in my face. "I don't want you to think," she said in a little faint trembling voice, "that--that I--that I--" She quite broke down. "I really don't know what you mean, Helen." "Floyd," she cried passionately, "I think I would die before I would wilfully hurt your feelings!" "Why, my poor little girl," said I, quite touched at the sight of her quivering face and the sound of her impassioned voice, "you did not hurt my feelings for an instant. What I said was in answer to my own thoughts. I like to say such things to myself at times, and remember that I do not possess the advantages of other men. Besides, facts are facts: I am lame. I cannot dance, and although I can walk, it is with a limping gait: I should be a poor fellow in a foot-race. I don't suppose that my being a cripple will forfeit me anything in the kingdom of heaven, but, nevertheless, it obliges me to forego a good many pleasures here on earth."