Then the old gate clucked "good luck" behind them, and they stole down the street under the elms whose very shadows seemed kindly and protecting. Through the leaves the little slice of moon kept pace with them.
But all she said was:
"Well, I'm here, Ben."
And he:
"Thank you for coming, Sally."
There was that shyness of youth that kept them silent, but her hand fluttered into the curve of his arm, and the nearness was very sweet.
Now the houses were a little further apart, and they could hear the murmur of the breakers on the beach. They reached its white slope, and the murmur deepened to a musical thunder. A moment they stood in awe at the scene—a little in awe of each other.
Then Sally broke the spell. "I'll beat you to the next rock," she called, and taking off her Tam o' shanter, her hair flying free in the breeze, she dashed over the shingle.
He gained on her, but she reached it a little ahead, when suddenly she slipped on a moss-covered boulder, and he caught her in his arms.
A moment she trembled in them, then, half-frightened at the commingled beating, withdrew.
And again they were silent till they reached the great rock.
Above them the great white eye of the Lighthouse turned and turned as it had for so many years, now lighting up the expanse of the ocean, again leaving it in darkness.
