efore the post went out. She could not decide until forced to it.
Either way she dreaded. She was very nearly leaving the letter
altogether unanswered. But suddenly she resolved she would know all,
the best, the worst. No cowardly dread of herself, or of others,
should make her neglect aught that came to her in her child's name.
She took up a pen and wrote:

"The sands below the rocks, where we met you the other night. Time,
afternoon church."

Sunday came.

"I shall not go to church this afternoon. You know the way, of
course; and I can trust you to go steadily by yourselves."

When they came to kiss her before leaving her, according to their
fond wont, they were struck by the coldness of her face and lips.

"Are you not well, dear Mrs Denbigh? How cold you are!"

"Yes, darling! I am well;" and tears sprang into her eyes as she
looked at their anxious little faces. "Go now, dears. Five o'clock
will soon be here, and then we will have tea."

"And that will warm you!" said they, leaving the room.

"And then it will be over," she murmured--"over."

It never came into her head to watch the girls as they disappeared
down the lane on their way to church. She knew them too well to
distrust their doing what they were told. She sat still, her head
bowed on her arms for a few minutes, and then rose up and went to put
on her walking things. Some thoughts impelled her to sudden haste.
She crossed the field by the side of the house, ran down the steep
and rocky path, and was carried by the impetus of her descent far
out on the level sands--but not far enough for her intent. Without
looking to the right hand or to the left, where comers might be
seen, she went forwards to the black posts, which, rising above the
heaving waters, marked where the fishermen's nets were laid. She went
straight towards this place, and hardly stinted her pace even where
the wet sands were glittering with the receding waves. Once there,
she turned round, and in a darting glance, saw that as yet no one
was near. She was perhaps half-a-mile or more from the grey, silvery
rocks, which sloped away into brown moorland, interspersed with a
field here and there of golden, waving corn. Behind were purple
hills, with sharp, clear outlines, touching the sky. A little on one
side from where she stood, she saw the white cottages and houses
which formed the village of Abermouth, scattered up and down, and, on
a windy hill, about a mile inland, she saw the li