But down on a strip of sparkling yellow sand he saw Magdalen Crawford standing , her hand on the rope that fastened a small white dory to the fragment of a half-embedded wreck . She was watching a huddle of gulls clustered on the tip of a narrow , sandy spit running out to the left . She turned at the sound of his hurried foot-fall behind her . Her face paled slightly , and into the depths of her eyes leapt a passionate , mesmeric glow that faded as quickly as it came . `` You see I have come back in spite of your command , Magdalen . '' `` I do see it , '' she answered in a gravely troubled voice . `` You are a madman who refuses to be warned . '' `` Where are you going , Magdalen ? '' She had loosened the rope from the wreck . `` I am going to row over to Chapel Point for salt . They think the boats will come in tonight loaded with mackerel -- look at them away out there by the score -- and salt will be needed . '' `` Can you row so far alone ? '' `` Easily . I learned to row long ago -- for a pastime then . Since coming here I find it of great service to me . '' She stepped lightly into the tiny shallop and picked up an oar . The brilliant sunshine streamed about her , burnishing the rich tints of her hair into ruddy gold . She balanced herself to the swaying of the dory with the grace of a sea bird . The man looking at her felt his brain reel . `` Good-bye , Mr. Elliott . ''
For answer he sprang into the dory and , snatching an oar , pushed against the old wreck XXXXX such energy that the dory shot out from the shore like a foam bell .
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