He caught his breath as he looked at her. He stooped and kissed the red, red lips that gave so generously. "Is my love as the rising tide to you, sweet?" he murmured.
"It is more!" she answered passionately. "It is more! It is the tidal wave that comes so seldom--maybe only once in a lifetime--and carries all before it."
He pressed her closer. "My passion-flower!" he said. "My queen!"
He kissed the throbbing whiteness of her throat, the loose clusters of her hair. He laid his hot face against her neck, and held it so, not breathing. Her arms stretched upwards, clasping him. She was panting--panting as one in deep waters.
"I love you! I love you!" she whispered tensely. "Oh, how I love you!"
Again there came the thunder of the surf. The waters of the pool leapt as if a giant hand had churned them. The foam from beyond the reef overspread them like snow. The whole world became full of the sound of surging waters.
Knight opened his eyes. "The tide is coming up fast," he said. "We must be getting back."
She clung closer to him. "I could die with you on a night like this," she said.
He crushed her to his heart. "Ah, goddess!" he said. "You couldn't die! But I am only mortal, and the tide won't wait."
Again the swirling breakers swept around the Point. Reluctantly she came to earth. The pool had become a seething whirl of water.
"Yes," she said, "we must go, and quickly--quickly! It rises so fast here."
Sure-footed as a doe over the slippery rocks, she led the way. They left the magic place and the dazzling tumble of moonlit water, the dark caves, the enchanted strand. Progress was not easy, but Knight had been that way before, though only by day. He followed his guide closely, and when presently they emerged upon level sand, he overtook and walked beside her.
She slipped her hand into his. "It's the lie of the quicksand that's puzzling," she said, "if you don't know it well."
"I am in thy hands, O Queen," he made light reply. "Lead me whither thou wilt!"
She laughed--a low, sweet laugh of sheer happiness. "And if I lead you astray?"
"I would follow you down to the nethermost millstone," he vowed.
Her hand tightened upon his. She paused a moment, looking out over the stretch of sand that intervened between them and the little fishing-quay. He had safely negotiated that stretch of sand by daylight, though even then it had needed an alert eye to detect that slight ooziness of surface that denoted the presence of the sea-swamp. But by night, even in that brilliant moonlight, it was barely perceptible. Columbine herself did not trust to appearances. She had learnt the way from Adam as a child learns a lesson by heart. He had taught her to know the danger-spot by the shape of the cliffs above it.