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He pulled off his coat and wrapped it round her. Then, as if she had been a child, he drew her gently into his arms, and held her so.

“Tell me–now,” he said softly.

But she hid her face dumbly. No words would come.

It seemed a long while before he spoke again.

“That cable of yours was a fraud,” he said then. “I was not–I am not–prepared to release you from your engagement except under the original condition.”

“I think you must,” she said faintly.

He sought for her cold hands and thrust them against his neck. And again there was a long silence, while outside the sea raged fiercely, and far below them in the distance a white streak of foam ran bubbling over the rocky floor.

Soon the streak had become a stream of dancing, storm-tossed water. Evelyn watched it with wide, fascinated eyes. But she made no sign of fear. She felt as if he had, somehow, laid a quieting hand upon her soul.

Higher the water rose, and higher. The cave was filled with dreadful sound. It was almost dark, for dusk had fallen. She felt that but for the man’s presence she would have been wild with fear. But his absolute confidence wove a spell about her that no terror could penetrate. The close holding of his arms was infinitely comforting to her. She knew with complete certainty that he was not afraid.

“It’s very dark,” she whispered to him once; and he pressed her head down upon his breast and told her not to look. Through the tumult she heard the strong, quiet beating of his heart, and was ashamed of her own mortal fear.

It seemed to her that hours passed while she crouched there, listening, as the water rose and rose. She caught the gleam of it now and then, and once her face was wet with spray. She clung closer and closer to her companion, but she kept down her panic. She felt that he expected it of her, and she would have died there in the dark, sooner than have disappointed him.

At last, after an eternity of quiet waiting, he spoke.

“The tide has turned,” he said. And his tone carried conviction with it.

She raised her head to look.

A dim, silvery light shone mysteriously in revealing the black walls above them, the tossing water below. It had been within a foot of their resting-place, but it had dropped fully six inches.

Evelyn felt a great throb of relief pass through her. Only then did she fully realise how great her fear had been.

“Is that the moon?” she asked wonderingly.

“Yes,” said Cheveril. He spoke in a low voice, even with reverence, she thought. “We shall be out of this in an hour. It will light us home.”

“How–wonderful!” she said, half involuntarily.

Cheveril said no more; but the silence that fell between them was the silence of that intimacy which only those who have stood together before the great threshold of death can know. Many minutes passed before Evelyn spoke again, and then her words came slowly, with hesitation.

“You knew?” she said. “You knew that we were safe?”

“Yes,” he answered quietly; “I knew. God doesn’t give with one hand and take away with the other. Have you never noticed that?”

“I don’t know,” she answered with a sharp sigh. “He has never given me anything very valuable.”

“Quite sure?” said Cheveril, and she caught the old quizzical note in his voice.

She did not reply. She was trying to understand him in the darkness, and she found it a difficult matter.

There followed a long, long silence. The roar of the breaking seas had become remote and vague.

But the moonlight was growing brighter. The dark cave was no longer a place of horror.

“Shall we go?” Evelyn suggested at last.

He peered downwards.

“I think we might,” he said. “No doubt your people will be very anxious about you.”

They climbed down with difficulty, till they finally stood together on the wet stones.