Again Claudius spoke, softly, and it seemed to her that the voice was not his, but rather that it came up mystically from the water below.
"Are you sorry it is over ?" he asked--or the voice of the mighty deep welling up with its burden of truth.
"Yes, I am very sorry," she answered, whether she would or no.

The sun sank down, and the magic after-glow shone in the opposite sky, tinging ship and sails and waves.
"I am very sorry too," he said; and he sighed and looked astern eastwards, and thought of the golden hours he had spent on that broad track stretching away behind.

Margaret leaned down, resting her chin on her hands, and presently she unfolded them, and her fingers stole upwards and covered her face, and she bent her head.

There was a mighty beating in Claudius's breast, and a thousand voices in the air cried to him to speak and to say what was in his heart to say.

But he would not, for he had given the woman at his side the promise of his faith.