Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1916)

132 Photoplay Magazine Hudson, and she had given her word, but for the first time in a year she longed for the solace of the sea, as she entered the home where she was confronted by the task of being mother to a child who regarded her as an intruder. Ann was not openly antagonistic, and made many pathetic little attempts to be friendly, but often would rush away to the seclusion of her room, and sob her grief to her pillow. Even when she was alone with her husband, Ellinor could not overcome the feeling of oppression. It was only when they would escape from the house, and return to the cliffs beside the sea where they had first met, that she became her old self again. So she began to accuse herself of failure. She thought she never could become a real part of that other life, and must always be just a child of the sea. The deep was calling to her once more, and the faraway look in her eyes returned. "Why so silent?" Hudson asked her one day. "It is the sea. I cannot escape it. I cannot be happy away from it, and now I cannot be happy beside it." "Forget the sea, and think of our love. That will break the chain." "If only Ann would love me," she sighed. "We must be patient. That will come with time." So Ellinor tried to be patient and tender, but Ann retired more and more within herself. At last the crisis came. One evening Ellinor, her nerves wrenched with longing for joy and harmony in the home, swept Ann into her arms, and almost hysterically pleaded for a little affection, for she had come to love the child despite the barrier between them. But Ann stiffened herself, drew away, and quit the room without a word. Ellinor flung herself upon a couch and wept, and it was thus that Hudson found her. She calmed herself, with a great effort, and faced him. She had reached her decision. "I must go," she said. "This never can be my home — our home. I am trying to sit in a chair that is occupied by a ghost. The sea is calling me. and I must go." "You shall not go," he answered. "You are my wife." "I cannot stay — I cannot! I must go, now — tonight. I have broken my vow to the sea." Suddenly she remembered Mason, and the ceremony of the rings and the waves. She never had told Hudson of the incident. It had seemed only a dream, from the day she first met him. " 'Whom the sea hath joined, only the sea can part,' " she said. "What do you mean?" Hudson demanded. She told him of Mason, of his mysterious coming, -of the word he had brought from the deep, the word she did not understand until Hudson interpreted it — the word "Love." She told of their rings, flung into the surf, and Mason's promise to return. "But that was only a childish fancy." he insisted. "You did not love him. It was only a game. And he never did return." While he was still speaking the door was thrown open unceremoniously, and a big man in oilskins strode into the room. "I have returned," he said grimly. "Come, Ellinor — my wife." "It is fate," Ellinor whispered. "It is the answer." They stood there a full minute, motionless, except as they looked from one to another. Hudson broke the spell with a nervous laugh. "Why it's all ridiculous — preposterous." he said. "You can't do things like this. You can't break all the laws of God and man because of a childish game." "You don't understand." Mason replied. in low, solemn tones. "There is no law to govern the sea and its people, except the laws we ourselves make, and obey. You may try to forget for a while, but once you have known the sea you always must return." "I must go of expression, trance. "But you love me. can you go?" "I love you. I love your children." Ellinor answered, in the same monotone. "I wanted to be part of your life, but it is impossible. There is no joy in the sea. and I wanted joy. But there is none here for me either. 1 wanted to bring happiness to you and your children, but I bring only sorrow and bitter memories. I must go." She turned toward Mason. "I am ready." she said. "I will go with you." Hudson bowed his head upon his breast. He realized he was defeated. He felt the hopelessness of argument against such emotions as these. After all. perhaps. Elli Ellinor said, her tones void She seemed held in a sort of Hudson uriied. "How