Who could have been at such a time, with death beneath them?
Perchance it was the wind that kissed him, or a lock of her loose hair which struck across his face.
Indeed, at the moment he thought of other things than women's lips--those of the black and yawning gulf, for instance.
They swooped through the air, the white foam vanished, they were safe.

No; the hind feet of Flame had missed their footing, they fell, they were lost.

A struggle.

How tight those arms clung about him.

How close that face was pressed against his own.