But fears such as that could not hold her long. They had sprung up, in spite of her, once or twice when he had jumped up and left her alone, and gone out into the night to pace the beach. But when he returned, quieted and all himself again, they disappeared at once, and her heart was at rest. Wrong and this man had nothing in common, she said to herself. She felt as sure of his honour as of her own. LII "This weather cannot last much longer," he said, one night as they sat talking after supper; he with his pipe, which she never would permit him to sacrifice on her account, pronouncing the smell of it homely and comfortable, in spite of his apologies for the varied qualities of his tobacco. "We must be somewhere near the end of October." "It is either the 21st or 22nd or 23rd," she said very definitely. "You have kept count?" "Except the time I was on the mast and before I came to life again." "Two days probably." "I imagined so. In that case it is the 21st." "And we must be ready for November and bad weather. Would you sooner stop here or go back to the 'Jane and Mary'?" "We could not be more comfortable than we are here. But I will do whatever you wish." He glanced at her through the wreathing smoke of fire and pipe, for nothing they could do would make it all go up the chimney. Would she say as much if he asked her more? he wondered. Was she ready to be asked? Or was it still too soon? If he told her all that was in his heart, would he startle her out of this most pleasant companionship? She sat gazing quietly into the fire of scraps of old ship's timber. Those leaping tongues of blue and green and yellow and crimson flame were a never-failing joy to her. Many a curious thing had she seen in them, and thought many strange thoughts to the tune of their merry dance. She was winsome beyond words when she sat so, with the lights and shadows playing over her face, and about the misty dark eyes in which her clear soul dwelt and shone without disguisements. Suppose he said to her--here and now,--"Avice, dearest, do you know what you are to me? I cannot possibly tell you in words, but--do you know?..." And she said "I know,"--and said again, "I will do whatever you wish...." Ah--God! ... If that could be he would ask no more of life.... One word from her and this bare bank would be swept with golden fires; in the twinkling of an eye it would become a Paradise for him and her to dwell in.... If he sat there looking at her it must out. He could not keep it in. And why should he? Why not tell her, here and now? ... He got up quietly and strode out into the night. A smile hovered in the corners of her lips, as, without looking, she caught sight of his face. Then she rose also and stole out after him.