"Do you remember Tennyson's lines?--they reached Uncle Brian and me even
in the wild forests of America:

"'Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail
Which brings our friends up from the under world;
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks, with all we love, below the verge.'"

"There! it is gone now," cried Agatha, almost with a sense of loss. She
felt Anne Valery's fingers tighten convulsively over her arm, and saw
her with straining eyes and quivering lips watching the vanishing--nay,
vanished--ship, as if all her soul were flying with it to the "under
world."

The sight was so startling, so moving--especially in a woman of Miss
Valery's mature age and composed demeanour--that Nathanael's wife
instinctively turned her eyes away and kept silence. In a minute or two
Anne had returned to Mr. Harper's arm, and the three were walking on as
before; until, ere long, they nestled themselves in a sheltered nook,
where the sea-wind could not reach them, and the sun came in, warm as
summer.

Nathanael began to show his wife the different points of
scenery--especially the rocky island of Portland, beyond which the line
of coast sweeps on ruggedly westward to the Land's End.

"But I believe," he said, "that there is nowhere a grander coast than we
have here--not even in Cornwall."

"Speaking of Cornwall," Miss Valery said, closely observing Nathanael,
"I lately heard a sad story about some mines there."

Mr. Harper seemed restless. "The speculation had failed, having been
ill-managed, or, as I greatly fear, a cheat from the beginning. As I had
property near in the county--what, did you not know that, Nathanael--I
was asked to do something for the poor starving miners of Wheal
Caroline. Have you heard the name, Agatha?"

"No," said Agatha, innocently, not paying much attention, except to the
lovely view.

"Not heard? That is strange. But you, Nathanael"--

"I know all," he said hastily. "It is a sad history--too sad to be
talked of here. Another time"--

His eye met hers--and both turned upon Agatha, who sat a little apart,
enjoying the novel scene, and rejoicing above all that the sea--vague
object of nameless terror--could ever appear so beautiful.

"Poor child!" murmured Miss Valery.

"Hush, Anne!" Nathanael whispered, so imploringly--nay, commandingly,
that Anne was startled.

"How like you are to"--

"What were you saying?" asked Agatha, turning at last.

"I was sayin