r was to be his. And in the carriage there was
only Molly, the strong-hearted but the fettered by tie and vow, the
slave for ever of a first girlish fancy but too successfully
compassed; only Lady Landale rejoining her husband in his melancholy
solitude; Lady Landale who never--never! awful word! would know the
joys which yonder poor fool had had within her grasp and yet had not
clutched at.

Molly had read, as permitted, her sister's letter, and to some
purpose; and scorn of the girl who from some paltry quibble could
abandon in danger the man she professed to love, filled her soul to
the exclusion of any sisterly or ever womanly pity.

At the end of half an hour the carriage was stopped by the black
shadow of a man, who seemed to spring up from the earth, and who,
after a few rapid words interchanged with the coachman, extinguished
both the lights, and then opened the door.

Leaning on the offered elbow Molly jumped down upon the yielding
sand.

"Rene?" she asked; for the darkness even on the open beach was too
thick to allow of recognition.

"Rene, your ladyship--or Mademoiselle is it?" answered the man in his
unmistakable accent. "I must ask; for, by the voice no one can tell,
as your ladyship, or Mademoiselle knows--and the sky is black like a
chimney."

"Lady Landale, Rene," and as he paused, she added, "My sister would
not come."

"Ah, _mon Dieu_! She would not come," repeated the man in tones of
dismay; and the black shadow was struck into a moment of stillness.
Then with an audible sigh Mr. Potter roused himself, and saying with
melancholy resignation, "The boat is there, I shall be of return in a
minute, My Lady," took the traveller's bag on his shoulder and
disappeared.

The carriage began to crunch its way back in the darkness and Molly
was left alone.

* * * * *

In front of her was a faint white line, where the rollers spread their
foam with mournful restless fugue of long drawn roar and hissing sigh.

In the distance, now and then glancing on the crest of the dancing
billows, shone the steady light of Scarthey. The rising wind whistled
in the prickly star-grass and sea-holly. Beyond these, not a sight,
not a sound--the earth was all mystery.

Molly looked at the light--marking the calm spot where her husband
waited for her; its very calm, its familiar placidity, monotony,
enraged her; she hearkened to the splashing, living waves, to the
swift flying gusts o