A small hardy weed had grown
upon their heads in tufts; withered and sear with the winter, it still
hung there. The ribs bent over a little, as the men he had seen had
bent.
"The cloud-shadows and the moonlight were very confusing," remarked
Josephine; "and then O'Shea made the two sailors stand in the same way,
and they were real. I never knew a man like O'Shea for thinking of
things that are half serious and half funny. I never knew him yet fail
to find a way to do the thing he wanted to do; and it's always a way
that makes me laugh."
If Josephine would not come away with him, would O'Shea find a way of
killing Le Maitre? and would it be a way to make her laugh? With the
awful weight of the tidings he brought upon his heart, all that he said
or did before he told them seemed artificial.
"I thought"--half mechanically--"that I saw them all hold up their
hands."
"Did you?" she asked. "The first two did; O'Shea told them to hold up
their hands."
"There is something you said a minute ago that I want to answer," he
said.
She thought he had left the subject of his illusion because it mortified
him.
"You said"--he began now to feel emotion as he spoke--"that you thought
I should not respect you. I want to tell you that I respected you as I
respect my mother, even when you were only a mermaid. I saw you when I
fell that night as we walked on this beach.
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