entioned his wife; he
couldn't have avoided it the first night I was talking to him. Three
horses--yes; I suppose Eleanor really is good-looking. No one is more
opposed than I am to the vulgar practice of matchmaking, which some
women indulge in, but it really would be a mercy to get the girl
settled. Yes; he must not think of leaving us until he is quite strong;
and that won't be for some weeks, for some time, yet."

Drake went down to the stables with Dick and "looked at" the horses,
every now and then casting a glance through the open door at the
_Seagull_ as it sailed across the bay.

Did he regret the woman who had jilted him? Did he wish that he were on
board his yacht with his friends, with the badinage, the scandal of the
women, the jests and the doubtful stories of the men? He scarcely knew;
he thought that he was sorrowing for the fair woman who had deserted
him; but--he was not sure. From the meadows above there came the tinkle
of a sheep bell, a lowing of a cow calling to her calf; the scent of the
tar from a kettle on the beach rose with sharp pungency; the haze of the
summer evening was blurring the hills which half ringed the sapphire
sea. There was peace at Shorne Mills--a peace which fell upon the weary
man of the world. He forgot his troubles for a moment; his lost
inheritance, his debts, and difficulties; forgot even Woman and all she
had cost him.

Then suddenly, faintly, there came floating down to him the clear, sweet
voice of Nell. What was it she was singing?

"Though years have passed, I love you yet;
Do you still remember, or do you forget?"

A great wave of bitterness swept over him, and, between his teeth, he
muttered:

"They are all alike--with the face and the voice of an angel, and the
heart of the Man with the Muck-rake. God save me from them from this
time henceforth!"

CHAPTER VIII.

The weeks glided by, Drake's arm got mended, but he still lingered on at
Shorne Mills.

There was something in the beauty, the repose, of the place which
fascinated and held him. He was so weary of the world, sore with
disappointment, and shrinking from the pity of his friends who were, as
he knew, dying to commiserate with him over his altered prospects.

The weather was lovely, the air balmy, and for amusement--well, there
was sailing in the _Annie Laurie_, lounging with a pipe on the jetty,
listening, and sometimes talking, to the fishermen and sailors, and