That was the truth as he saw it--the bitter,
unavoidable truth. O God, it wasn't fair--it wasn't fair!
The evening shadows were lengthening. The waves splashed softly against
the fallen rocks forty to fifty feet below. They seemed to be calling to
him. It was almost like a summons from far away--almost like a bugle-call
heard in the mists of sleep. Somehow they soothed him, lessening the
poignancy of his anguish, checking his wild rebellion, making him aware
of a strangely comforting peace.
As if God had spoken and stilled his inarticulate protest, the futile
agony of his striving died down. He began to be conscious vaguely that
somewhere within his reach there lay a way of escape. He stared out over
the silver-blue of the sea with strained and throbbing vision. The sun
had gone down behind High Shale, and the quiet shadows stretched towards
him. He had the feeling of a hunted man who has found sanctuary. Again,
more calmly, his tired brain considered the problem that had driven him
forth in such bitterness of soul.
There was Dicky--Dicky who loved him--whom he worshipped. Yes, certainly
Dicky loved him. He had never questioned that. He was the only person in
the world who had ever wanted him.
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