"But it's for her sake, Boyd! It's--"
"Nothing of the sort! That is, it isn't as you think it is."
"I only think you love her."
"I don't want you to say that--or believe it!" he raved. "If you only
knew--if I could tell you--you'd see that it's insulting my common sense
to say that I'm in love with Alma Marston. I don't love her! I--I don't
know just where I stand. I don't know what's the matter with me. I'm in
the most damnable position a man can be in. And I'm talking like a fool.
Isn't that so?"
"I don't understand you," she faltered.
"Of course you don't. I reckon I'm a lunatic. I'll be rolling over here
and biting the grass next!"
His passion puzzled her. His flaming eyes, his rough beard, his rage,
and all the uncouth personality of him shocked her.
"Boyd, what--whatever is the matter? I'm afraid."
"I don't blame you. I'm afraid of myself these days!" He shook his
swollen fists over his head.
"It ought to encourage you because she is trying to help you!"
"Be still!" he roared. "You don't know what you're talking about. Help
me! There are women who can help a man--do help a man, every turn he
makes. There are other women who keep kicking him down into damnation
even when they think they are helping. I'm not going to stay here any
longer. I mustn't stay, Polly. I'll be saying things worse than what I
have said. What I said about women doesn't refer to you! You are true
and good, and I envy that man, whoever he is."
He started down the slope toward the beach.
"Are you going back to the wreck?" she asked, plaintively.
"To the wreck!"
"But wait!" She could not control either her feelings or her voice.
"I can't wait. I don't dare to stay another minute!"
She called again and he halted at a little distance and faced her. He
was absolutely savage in demeanor and tone.
"Remember what I said about her! Don't insult my common sense! She
is--Oh, no matter!" He shook his fists again and went on his way.
She stood on the hillside and watched him row out to the little
schooner. And through her tears she did not know whether he waved salute
to her with those poor, work-worn hands, or again shook his fists. He
made some sort of a flourish over the rail of the quarter-deck. The
grieving and mystified girl was somberly certain that his troubles had
touched Mayo's wits.