Sitting at the bottom of the sea--why did
it strike her so strangely--what unfamiliar thought did it waken in her
mind? Well, and why not? It would be pleasant there, better at any rate
than on the earth. But things cannot be ended so; one is burdened with
the flesh, and one must wear it till it fails. Why must she wear it?
Was not the sea large enough to hide her bones? Look now, she had but
to slip over the edge of the canoe, slip without a struggle into those
mighty arms, and in a few short minutes it would all be done and gone!
She gasped as the thought struck home. _Here_ was the answer to her
questionings, the same answer that is given to every human troubling,
to all earthly hopes and fears and strivings. One stroke of that black
knife and everything would be lost or found. Would it be so great a
thing to give her life for Geoffrey?--why she had well nigh done as much
when she had known him but an hour, and now that he was all in all,
oh, would it be so great a thing? If she died--died secretly, swiftly,
surely--Geoffrey would be saved; they would not trouble him then, there
would be no one to trouble about: Owen Davies could not marry her then,
Geoffrey could not ruin himself over her, Elizabeth could pursue her no
further.
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