ntil of a
sudden, at a great distance, he descried a figure seated on a bench. He
bounded forward. In a moment he would see the face, and would know--

When he awoke a sense of strangeness hung about him, and, as he sat up
in bed, he remembered. This was the hotel at St. Jean de Luz. What
could be the time? He had no matches at hand, and did not know where
the bell was. Looking around, he perceived at length a thread of light,
of daylight undoubtedly, which must come from the window. He got out of
bed, cautiously crossed the floor, found the window, and the means of
opening it, then unlatched the shutters which had kept the room in
darkness. At once a flood of sunshine poured in. Looking forth, he saw
a quiet little street of houses and gardens, and beyond, some miles
away, a mountain peak rising against the cloudless blue.

His watch had run down. He rang the bell, and learnt that the hour was
nearly eleven.

"I have slept well," he said in his Anglo-French. "I am hungry. Bring
me hot water. And find out, if you can, where lives Mrs. Coppinger. I
couldn't remember the name last night--Mrs. Coppinger."

In half an hour he was downstairs. The English lady for whom he
inquired lived, they told him, outside St. Jean de Luz, but not much
more than a mile away. Good, he would go there after lunch. And until
that meal was ready, he strolled out to have a look at the sea. Five
minutes' walk brought him on to the shore of a rounded bay, sheltered
by breakwaters against Atlantic storms above a sandy beach lay the
little town, with grassy slopes falling softly to the tide on either
hand.

At noon, he ate and drank heroically, then, having had his way pointed
out to him, set forth on the quest. He passed through the length of the
town, crossed the little river Nivelle, where he paused for a moment on
the bridge, to gaze at the panorama of mountains, all but to the summit
clad in soft verdure, and presently turned into an inland road, which
led him between pastures and fields of maize, gently upwards. On a
height before him stood a house, which he believed to be that he
sought; he had written down its unrememberable Basque name, and inquiry
of a peasant assured him that he was not mistaken. Having his goal in
view, he stood to reflect. Could he march up to the front door, and ask
boldly for Miss Elvan? But--the doubt suddenly struck him--what if
Rosamund were not living here? At Mrs. Coppinger's her sister was
governess; she