her voice was full of mystery. "My father comes here seldom; but once, after he had stood here for a long time, he said at last, 'Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore.' I like to believe that of Arthur."
Hand in hand they moved away.
"Was that a noise in the trees?" she asked, stopping suddenly. They looked about, but saw nothing, and went on, slowly, out of the little clearing. Still silent, they faced the homeward way along the cliff.
Archer took her hand in both of his.
"You believe now," he said.
Swiftly, for an instant, she clung about him, astonishingly small at close quarters, and hiding her face comically under his elbow.
"Oh, I knew you would come!" she said brokenly, laughing and crying together. "I knew you'd come. When you drank from the spring, and answered the two questions, I knew it was you—all the time. No, no, you must n't." She sprang away, laughing, and raced down the slope toward the sunset.
Archer could run, but the chase lasted to the brink of the farthest hill. They stopped,
