“The old story, I suppose,--the dear darlings upstairs. Well, I can't discuss what I know nothing about. I can only promise you that such ties would never bind _me_.” “I ask you once again what you mean by this?” cried she, as her lips trembled and her pale cheeks shook with agitation. “What does it point to? What am I to do? What am I to be?” “That's the puzzle,” said he, with an insolent levity; “and I 'll be shot if I can solve it! Sometimes I think we 'd do better to renounce the partnership, and try what we could do alone; and sometimes I suspect--it sounds odd, does n't it?--but I suspect that we need each other.” She had by this time buried her face between her hands, and by the convulsive motion of her shoulders, showed she was weeping bitterly. “One thing is certainly clear,” said he, rising, and standing with his back to the fire,--“if we decide to part company, we have n't the means. If either of us would desert the ship, there 's no boat left to do it with.” She arose feebly from her chair, but sank down again, weak and overcome. “Shall I give you my arm?” asked he. “No; send Jane to me,” said she, in a voice barely above a whisper. He rang the bell, and said, “Tell Jane her mistress wants her;” and with this he searched for a book on the table, found it, and strolled off to his room, humming an air as he went. CHAPTER XLV. THE TIDELESS SHORES They who only know the shores of the Mediterranean in the winter months, and have but enjoyed the contrast--and what a contrast!--between our inky skies and rain-charged atmosphere with that glorious expanse of blue heaven and that air of exciting elasticity,--they, I say, can still have no conception of the real ecstasy of life in a southern climate till they have experienced a summer beside the tideless sea.