"Helene," he whispered, approaching her; he wished to take her in
his arms.
She trembled, although she did not turn round; the next moment she
sprang away from him, and did not pause till she had got down to
the boat, which she was about to push off, but bethought herself
that it would be too cowardly, so she remained standing and
watched him come after her.
"Helene," he called from above, "why do you run away from me?"
"Rafael, you must not," she answered when he rejoined her. The
strongest accent of both prayer and command of which a powerful
nature is capable sounded in her words. She in the boat, he on the
shore; they eyed one another like two antagonists, watchful and
breathing hard, till he loosed the boat, stepped in and pushed
off.
She took her seat; but before doing the same he said:
"You know quite well what I wanted to say to you." He spoke with
difficulty.
She did not answer and got out her oars; her tears were ready to
flow. They rowed home again more slowly than they had come.
A lark hovered over their heads. The note of a thrush was heard
away inland. A guillemot skimmed over the water in the same
direction as their own, and a tern on curved wing screamed in
their wake.
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