uggles,
wore me out, so that I fell asleep there on the rough sand, my mouth
laid against the salty pebbles, and my hands grasping the sharp,
yielding grains, crushed as if some giant foot had trodden me into the
earth.

I was awakened by a soft speculative voice. "Another, perhaps," I
thought it said. Starting up, I saw standing beside me a thin, shrinking
figure, drenched like myself by the salt mist. From under a coarse, dark
straw hat, a small, delicate face regarded me shyly, yet calmly. It was
very pale, a little sunken, and surrounded by a cloud of light, curling
hair, blown loose by the wind; the wide sensitive lips were almost
colorless, and the peculiar eyes, greenish and great-pupiled, were
surrounded by stained, discolored rings that might have been the result
of weary vigils, or of ill-health. The woman, who was possibly thirty,
must once have been possessed of a fragile type of beauty, but it was
irretrievably lost now in the premature age that had evidently settled
upon her.

Struggling to a sitting posture, I saw that the thick white fog had
closed densely, and that the woodland back of us was barely
distinguishable. We too seemed shut in, as in a room. "You live at Mrs.
Libby's," said the young woman, after a moment's hesitation. "I am Agnes
Rayne. I hope I did not frighten you."

"No," I replied, brushing the sand from my damp clothing as I rose. "I
am afraid if you had not come by fortunately, I should have had a
thorough wetting. Can we get home before the storm begins?"

"You would not have taken cold down here on the beach," she remarked,
turning and looking out to sea. It seemed strangely to me as if those
odd eyes of hers could pierce the blinding mist. "I will not go back
with you. I have just come."

Whatever she did or said that might have seemed rude or brusque in
another, was sweet and courteous from her manner. "Very well," I said.
Then I paused,--my desire to meet her again was absurdly keen. Stepping
closer to her side, I extended my hand. "Will you come to see me, Miss
Rayne? I am very lonely, and I should be so--grateful."

She touched my fingers lightly with a chilly little hand, yet she never
looked at me as she replied, "Yes, some day."

As I plodded heavily through the wet sand, I was irresistibly impelled
to turn my head. She was merely standing exactly as I left her, thin
and straight, in the black gown that clung closely to her slender limbs,
with the mass of light hair