have been never. Don't you see, Helen? Just believe. I can't prove it to you. Why," he cried in despair, "if I had n't meant it for always, I'd no more have done it than I'd have tried to kiss good old Barbara the cook!"
The girl still hid her face, but laughter mingled funnily with her sobs.
"You can prove it," she declared suddenly. And seizing him by the hand, but with her face averted, she began to lead him away from the precipice, toward the grove of wind-swept cedars and pines. "You can say it to me before my brother," she said, eagerly tugging him along.
Wondering, he followed. They found themselves in a little natural clearing among the bleached trunks and dark, distorted branches. At the back of the clearing a tall wooden cross, with gray arms wide-stretched, faced out toward the sea. Helen dropped his hand, and they entered side by side, quietly, as if into a little chapel. They stood in shadow, the sunlight barely tipping the dark trees.
"Here is where I come on Sunday morn-
