Those two humble beasts, so friendly, made
her feel ashamed. Why should she be sorry for herself, she who had
everything in life she wanted--except love--the love she had thought she
would never want? Ah, but she wanted it now, wanted it at last with all
her being!
With a shudder, she sprang up; the ants had got to her, and she had to
pick them off her neck and dress. She wandered back towards the beach.
If he had truly found someone to fill his thoughts, and drive her out,
all the better for him; she would never, by word or sign, show him that
she missed, and wanted him--never! She would sooner die!
She came out into the sunshine. The tide was low; and the wet foreshore
gleamed with opal tints; there were wandering tracks on the sea, as of
great serpents winding their way beneath the surface; and away to the
west the archwayed, tawny rock that cut off the line of coast was like
a dream-shape. All was dreamy. And, suddenly her heart began beating to
suffocation and the colour flooded up in her cheeks. On the edge of the
low cliff bank, by the side of the path, Summerhay was sitting!
He got up and came toward her. Putting her hands up to her glowing face,
she said:
"Yes; it's me. Did you ever see such a gipsified object? I thought
you were still in Scotland. How's dear Ossy?" Then her self-possession
failed, and she looked down.
"It's no good, Gyp.
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