CHAPTER XLI.
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HEN she returned to any consciousness and sense of sight or hearing, she was alone with her faithless lover; he knelt beside her as he had kneeled on that night of storm when he had found her on the shore beneath the Sasso Scritto.
'Forgive me, forgive me!'—that was all he could think of to say.
He loathed his sins, and he abhorred himself.
Little by little she recovered breath and power and remembrance; she had only swooned from long fatigue and terror, and the effort made to save him.
For awhile she lay quite still, letting the deep delight of his touch, his voice, his
