ed, and the lids quivered
before they were closed again.

"_Chare! chare! chare_!" in a wild chorus of scare dying rapidly away
made Richard Frayne spring up, realise his position, and, after shaking
off the sand, rapidly scramble on his things, which--save a little dewy
moisture still left unimbibed by the sun--were dry and warm.

As he dressed he felt his pockets, where everything was right, even to
his pocket comb, and in a few minutes he was dressed all but his boots,
which, after they had been emptied of the sand, were as dry as the rest;
and there he stood, all but his hat, ready for a fresh start.

Not quite; for he thought of the absent bath, and then shuddered and
listened for the roar of the river, now softened down into a murmur.

The idea of going to some muddy pool to wash was too repellent, and,
making his way, rested and refreshed, out of the sand-pit, he stood
thinking, not hesitating, for his mind had been made up before he left
Mr Draycott's.

And as he stood there in the glorious morning sunshine, anyone who knew
him would have noted that a change had come during these last days. His
face looked old and thin, and there was an air of determination about
his compressed lips which had not been there before.

The next minute, after marking the direction of the sun, he was tramping
through the wood in search of the first lane. This would, sooner or
later, lead him into others, and they, perhaps, into the main road, the
one which he could follow east to the goal he sought.

How far he was from Primchilsea he could not tell, and he did not feel
as if he wished to know. All that belonged to the past: his life now
was in the future--a future which he meant to carve out for himself,
forgetful of Burns's aphorism about the best-laid plans of mice and men.
He forced himself now, with more or less success, as he tramped on, to
forget the past and think only of the present; but another shudder ran
through him as there rose before him the face of the drowning lad, with
its wild, appealing stare, and his brow wrinkled as he asked himself
whether he had really done everything possible to save another's life.

There could be only one answer to this, and he walked on, feeling
saddened, as he knew only too well that the poor fellow, in his helpless
state, must have sunk to rise no more.

Then, in spite of his efforts, the thoughts of the past would obtrude
themselves--of his cousin, of the scene at Mr Draycot