She laughed as lightheartedly as the waves slapping against their fragile cockleshell, but there was reverence in her voice as she repeated:
"Whither thou goest, I will go. Thy people"
"They are all gone, Linda!"
"Then let me be thy people."
"It is not right."
"As you will—I love you—as a sister I will go with you—until"
Not daring to finish the sentence she paused, then crept back to where he stood and, taking one hand from the spoke, she pressed it against her cheek.
"Beloved," was all she said, and he, not knowing what else to do, stroked her hair, still glistening with the white and gold pattern of the spray and moon. He stroked the dark head tenderly, as he might a sister's—as she had said, she who would have given her life for him.
Then away from the moonpath, straight into the heart of the darker west, they voyaged.
