evived thoughts of his old home and its
associations, and instead of awaiting other reasons for a return he made
her the operating one. About a week later he stood once again at the
foot of the familiar steep whereon the houses at the entrance to the
Isle were perched like grey pigeons on a roof-side.

At Top-o'-Hill--as the summit of the rock was mostly called--he stood
looking at the busy doings in the quarries beyond, where the numerous
black hoisting-cranes scattered over the central plateau had the
appearance of a swarm of crane-flies resting there. He went a little
further, made some general inquiries about the accident which had
carried off Avice's husband in the previous year, and learnt that though
now a widow, she had plenty of friends and sympathizers about her,
which rendered any immediate attention to her on his part unnecessary.
Considering, therefore, that there was no great reason why he should
call on her so soon, and without warning, he turned back. Perhaps after
all her request had been dictated by a momentary feeling only, and a
considerable strangeness to each other must naturally be the result of
a score of dividing years. Descending to the bottom he took his seat in
the train on the shore, which soon carried him along the Bank, and
round to the watering-place five miles off, at which he had taken up his
quarters for a few days.

Here, as he stayed on, his local interests revived. Whenever he went out
he could see the island that was once his home lying like a great
snail upon the sea across the bay. It was the spring of the year; local
steamers had begun to run, and he was never tired of standing on the
thinly occupied deck of one of these as it skirted the island and
revealed to him on the cliffs far up its height the ruins of Red-King
Castle, behind which the little village of East Quarriers lay.

Thus matters went on, if they did not rather stand still, for several
days before Pierston redeemed his vague promise to seek Avice out. And
in the meantime he was surprised by the arrival of another letter from
her by a roundabout route. She had heard, she said, that he had been on
the island, and imagined him therefore to be staying somewhere near. Why
did he not call as he had told her he would do? She was always thinking
of him, and wishing to see him.

Her tone was anxious, and there was no doubt that she really had
something to say which she did not want to write. He wondered what it
could be