A Sea Upcast by Thomas A. Janvier

When Tess came home to supper that night she was all changed again: her looks gay once more, and her step light, and a sort of flutter about her lips -- as if she was wanting to smile and was trying not to -- and a soft look in her eyes that I never had seen there, but knew the meaning of and found the worst of all.

I couldn't eat my supper; and got up presently and went out leaving it -- my mother looking after me wondering -- and walked up and down on the cliff-edge in the darkness with my heart all in a blaze of hate for John. For a good while I had been looking for what I knew was in the way of coming to me; but it was different, and worse, and hurt more than I had counted on, when at last it came. Out there in the darkness I staid until the night was well on -- not wanting for a while to hear the sound of Tess's voice nor to lay eyes on her. Not until I was sure, by the lights being out in the house, that she'd gone to bed, did I go in again. My mother was waiting waking for me. She came to me in the dark and put her arms around me and kissed me; by which I knew that Tess had been telling her -- and knew, too, she always having looked to the wedding of us, that her heart was sore along with mine. But I could not bear even her soft touch on the hurt that I had. I just kissed her back again and broke away from her and went to bed. And in the very early morning, not having slept much, I slipped out of the house before either she or Tess was stirring and down to my boat and so away to sea.