The Tidal Wave and Other Stories

high in the sky, and the cloud-wreaths were mounting towards it as incense smoke from an altar. The thick, bla

ave been delicately carved in ivory. And across the pool, clear-cut against the utter darkness of the Spear Point Rock, stood Aphrodite the Beautiful, clad in some green translucent draperies, her black hair loose about her, her white arms outstre

as too superb for criticism. It was the work of genius-the driving force within that would not let him pause to listen to the wild urgings of his heart. Th

rcely conscious of effort, though the perspiration was streaming down his face, he whispered over and over be

surf. That was what he wanted now-just the first great wave washing over her exquisite feet and flinging its garment of spray like a flimsy veil over her perfect form

Point Rock, and again, but very far away, there sounded the tolling of t

came to him across the pool, mingl

up fast. It won't

. "It is absolutely safe. I will swim across and help you

haps his promise reassured her, or perhaps she did not fully r

ike the report of a distant gun, and t

Don't move!"

heard him in the overwh

tience. It passed, and he saw her again-his vision, the goddess of his dream, still as the rock behind her, yet sple

ong the rock, and broke with a thunderous roar in a torrent of snow-white surf. In a moment the pool was a seething tumult of water, and in that

oud had drifted over the moon.

so a hand came suddenly from the darkness behind and gripped him by the s

fore he had time to realise what was happening, he was shaken with furious force and flung a

nes. The roar of the sea was terrible and imminent, like the roar of a destroying monster racing u

rst time stricken with fear, and then in the howling uproar of that dreadful place there came to him like a searchlight wheeling inwards the thought of the girl. The water receded from him, leaving him drenched, almost dazed, but a voice within-an urgent, insistent voice-clamoured that his safety was at stake, his life a matter of mere moments if he lingered. This was the Death Current of which Rufus had warned him only that afternoon. Had not the bell-buoy been tolling to deaf ears for some time past? The Death Current that came like a tidal wave! And nothing could

hat there was no one spying upon them. The cottage had been shut and dark then, the little garden empty. He had concluded that Rufus had gone early to rest after a long day with the nets, and had passed on securely to wait for Columbine on the edge of their magic pool. But what he did not know wa

fell, and yet again he dragged himself up, grimly determined to fight the desperate battle to the last gasp. The thought of Columbine had gone wholly from him, even as the thought of his lost treasure. Only the elemental desire of life gripped him, vital

y covered. The surf of one great wave was rushing over the beach to the Caves, and the spray of it blew over Knight, drenching him from head to foot. Desperately, by that passing gleam of moonlight, he searched for the opening of the path, the foam of the oncoming procession already swirling about his feet.

reached it, reached the loose dry sand so soon to be covered by the roaring tumult of great waters. His eyes glared out o

im as he took the only alternative, and set himself to traverse t