“Can’t you forget it, Siegmund?” she cried. “Can’t you forget it? It was only a shadow, Siegmund. It was a lie, it was nothing real. Can’t you forget it, dear?” “You can’t do without me?” he asked. “If I lose you I am lost,” answered she with swift decision. She had no knowledge of weeping, yet her tears were wet on his face. He held her safely; her arms were hidden under his coat. “I will have no mercy on those shadows the next time they come between us,” said Helena to herself. “They may go back to hell.” She still clung to him, craving so to have him that he could not be reft away. Siegmund felt very peaceful. He lay with his arms about her, listening to the backward-creeping tide. All his thoughts, like bees, were flown out to sea and lost. “If I had her more, I should understand her through and through. If we were side by side we should grow together. If we could stay here, I should get stronger and more upright.” This was the poor heron of quarry the hawks of his mind had struck. Another hour fell like a foxglove bell from the stalk. There were only two red blossoms left. Then the stem would have set to seed. Helena leaned her head upon the breast of Siegmund, her arms clasping, under his coat, his body, which swelled and sank gently, with the quiet of great power. “If,” thought she, “the whole clock of the world could stand still now, and leave us thus, me with the lift and fall of the strong body of Siegmund in my arms….” But the clock ticked on in the heat, the seconds marked off by the falling of the waves, repeated so lightly, and in such fragile rhythm, that it made silence sweet. “If now,” prayed Siegmund, “death would wipe the sweat from me, and it were dark….” But the waves softly marked the minutes, retreating farther, leaving the bare rocks to bleach and the weed to shrivel. Gradually, like the shadow on a dial, the knowledge that it was time to rise and go crept upon them. Although they remained silent, each knew that the other felt the same weight of responsibility, the shadow-finger of the sundial travelling over them. The alternative was, not to return, to let the finger travel and be gone. But then … Helena knew she must not let the time cross her; she must rise before it was too late, and travel before the coming finger. Siegmund hoped she would not get up. He lay in suspense, waiting. At last she sat up abruptly. “It is time, Siegmund,” she said. He did not answer, he did not look at her, but lay as she had left him. She wiped her face with her handkerchief, waiting. Then she bent over him. He did not look at her. She saw his forehead was swollen and inflamed with the sun. Very gently she wiped from it the glistening sweat. He closed his eyes, and she wiped his cheeks and his mouth. Still he did not look at her. She bent very close to him, feeling her heart crushed with grief for him. “We must go, Siegmund,” she whispered. “All right,” he said, but still he did not move.