"Madaline, Madaline!" he cried aloud: and the waves seemed to take up
the cry--they seemed to repeat "Madaline" as they broke on the shore.
"Madaline," the mild wind whispered. It was like the realization of a
dream, when he heard his name murmured, and, turning, he saw his lost
wife before him.
The next moment he had sprung to his feet, uncertain at first whether it
was really herself or some fancied vision.
"Madaline," he cried, "is it really you?"
"Yes; you must not be angry with me, Norman. See, we are quite alone;
there is no one to see me speak to you, no one to reveal that we have
met."
She trembled as she spoke; her face--to him more beautiful than
ever--was raised to his with a look of unutterable appeal.
"You are not angry, Norman?"
"No, I am not angry. Do not speak to me as though I were a tyrant.
Angry--and with you, Madaline--always my best beloved--how could that
be?"
"I knew that you were here," she said. "I saw in a newspaper that you
were going to Tintagel for the summer. I had been longing to see you
again--to see you, while unseen myself so I came hither."
"My dear Madaline, to what purpose?" he asked, sadly.
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