The tide was rising, wave after wave rolled in,
fell over, and swept up the beach in a thin white sheet of foam.
Further out the sea was calm and deserted, only in the extreme
distance the lights of some passing steamer crept over the smooth
dark waters like tiny glowworms.
Wilhelm's mind was in a tumult. This woman--what a strange,
terrifying creature. Why was she throwing herself at his head? And
who knows if only at his? And then--what need to tell him her story?
Perhaps it was a wild, insane flare of passion; but how could he
have roused it? There was nothing in him to account for it. And she
did not know him--knew nothing about his life or his character. She
was beautiful certainly--beautiful and alluring, and clever and
original--a most exceptional woman. She might well be able to disarm
a man of his self-control, and paralyze his will. But after that--
what then? How would it end? Better not begin--not begin. That would
be the wisest ending.
He left the shore and returned to the hotel. The view before him was
remarkable. At the further end of the street rose the church, its
Gothic flourishes outlined sharply against the lighter background of
the sky. Just behind it stood the full moon, tracing--as if for its
amusement--the silhouette of the roof of the church tower upon the
ground.
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