was no sound, except the monotonous chiming of the Mediterranean at her feet, no refuge in the hard and barren surface of the colossal seawall. She had sent him from her, chiefly for his sake, that he should not wait beside her till he was netted by the Church's webs, or slaughtered by the monarchist's steel, and an unutterable loneliness was about her; there seemed no mercy on the face of the waters, but only a cold and dreary smile. Beyond them lay liberty; but she felt as though even the force to arise and seek it had been killed in her.
Time passed in slow, sickening measure; the sullen light of a tempestuous morning burned higher in the heavens; full day was come; the couchant hound awoke with menace in his eyes; across the sands at her feet a shadow fell: there was no sound, no word, but she felt the presence, as men feel the gliding abhorred presence of a snake, the stealing velvet-footed approach of a tiger, ere they know that either are near. She started, and rose to her feet, and fell slowly backward step by step, till she rested against the wall of cliff, her gaze fastened on Conrad Phaulcon as he stood, with the crimson sun in his face, and the grey water lying in a lonely waste behind him.
"Ho, Miladi!" he cried aloud, "others can ride a
