He turned aside lest she should see the trembling of his face; he never complained to her.

He knew now that she thought him hard, cold, unfeeling, indifferent--that she thought his pride greater than his love; but even that was better than that she should know he suffered more than she did--she must never know that.
When he turned back from the tossing waves and the summer sun she was gone.

He looked across the beach--there was no sign of her.

She was gone; and he avowed to himself that it would be wonderful if ever in this world he saw her again.

She did not remain at Tintagel; to do so would be useless, hopeless.