skins uncannily. But Siegmund saw the waves were almost at the wall of the headland. Glancing back, he saw the other headland white-dashed at the base with foam. He and Helena must hurry, or they would be prisoned on the thin crescent of strand still remaining between the great wall and the water.
The cliffs overhead oppressed him—made him feel trapped and helpless. He was caught by them in a net of great boulders, while the sea fumbled for him. But he had Helena. She laboured strenuously beside him, blinded by the skin-like glisten of the white rock.
“I think I will rest awhile,” she said.
“No, come along,” he begged.
“My dear,” she laughed, “there is tons of this shingle to buttress us from the sea.”
He looked at the waves curving and driving maliciously at the boulders. It would be ridiculous to be trapped.
“Look at this black wood,” she said. “Does the sea really char it?”
“Let us get round the corner,” he begged.
“Really, Siegmund, the sea is not so anxious to take us,” she said ironically.
When they rounded the first point, they found themselves in a small bay jutted out to sea; the front of the headland was, as usual, grooved. This bay was pure white at the base, from its great heaped mass of shingle. With the huge concave of the cliff behind, the foothold of massed white boulders, and the immense arc of the sea in front, Helena was delighted.
“This is fine, Siegmund!” she said, halting and facing west.
Smiling ironically, he sat down on a boulder. They
