strangled it. But if she should see him like that again, in the awful rage, her love would surely die. Still—he was hurt. She must go to him, do something for him.
On the vitality of young manhood she hadn't reckoned; and, in the tumult of her thoughts, was almost sorry when she saw him swimming through the breakers. Perhaps, if she could have nursed him, if he had needed her, some of the pain in her heart might have assuaged. But he was greeting her cheerily now, as if there never had been any night before. Dismal and reproachful was the glance she gave him, though it softened a little when her eyes dwelt on the bruises, still discolouring his face in spite of his plunge in the cool waters.
"Ben, dear, promise me one thing."
"Sure, what is it?"
"That you won't fight again, except in self-defense."
"What would you have a man do? There are some things a man can't stand."
"Revenge doesn't pay—ever. It's better to stand some things than to turn into a—a—"
"A what, Sally?"
"A beast—there, now you know what I think."
"Was it as bad as all that?"
"Yes—it was."
She looked away; the lips quivered.
He took her in his arms.
"All right, Sal old girl, I'll promise."
There, in its proper resting-place, the morbid thoughts flew away from her head. And she didn't mind at all that his
