Two figures--a man and a woman--had detached themselves from the
shelter of these rocks, and were moving slowly, very slowly, towards
the path that led inwards from the shore. They were closely linked
together, so much his first glance told him. But there was something
in the man's gait that caught the eye and upon which Nick's whole
attention was instantly focussed. He could not see the face, but
the loose-slung, gigantic limbs were familiar to him. With all his
knowledge of the world of men, he had not seen many such.
Slowly the two approached till they stood almost immediately beneath
him, and there, as upon mutual impulse, they stopped. It was a corner
protected from the driving blast by the crumbling mass of cliff that
had slipped in the night. The rain was falling heavily again, but
neither the two on the shore nor the solitary watcher stretched on the
perilous edge of the cliff seemed aware of it. All were intent upon
other things.
Suddenly the woman raised her face, and with a movement that was
passionate reached up her arms and clasped them about the man's bent
neck. She was speaking, but no sound or echo of words was audible
in that tumult. Only her face lifted to the beating rain, with its
passion of love, its anguish of pain, told the motionless spectator
something of their significance.
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