kely."

Anne made no other remark, nor did Agatha. In a short time they were
driving homeward along the margin of the bay. That well-remembered bay,
the sight of which even now made Agatha feel as if she were dreaming
over again the one awful event of her childhood. And Anne--what felt
she? No wonder that she did not talk.

They came to a spot where the formal esplanade merged into a lonely
sea-side walk, leading towards the widening mouth of the bay, and
commanding the farthest view of the Channel as it curved down westward
into the horizon. Agatha turned pale.

"I remember it--that line of coast with the grey clouds over it. I lay
on these sands, and afterwards when you fell, I sat and cried over
you. This was the place, and it was over that point that the ship
disappeared."

Anne was speechless.

Agatha clasped her hand:--they understood one another. The next minute
the carriage turned. Miss Valery breathed a quick sigh, and bent
hurriedly forward; but the glitter of the ocean had vanished--she had
seen the last of Weymouth Bay.

It was a weary journey, for Anne seemed very feeble. Her young nurse was
thankful when the flashing network of streams told how near they were
whirling towards Kingcombe. As the train stopped, Mrs. Dugdale was
visible on the platform; Duke also, not at the station--that being a
degree of punctuality quite impossible--but a little way down the road.

"Well, Miss Anne Valery and Mrs. Locke Harper! To be gallivanting about
in this way! I declare it's quite disgraceful. What have you to say for
yourselves? Here have I been running up to every train to meet you, and
tell you"--

"What?" Agatha's cheek flushed with expectation. Anne grew very white.

"Now, Mrs. Harper, you need not be so hasty--'tisn't your husband.
A great blessing if it were. All the town is crying shame on him for
staying away so long."

Agatha threw a furious look at her sister, and dragged Miss Valery
along, nor stopped till she saw the latter could hardly breathe or
stand.

"Stay, my child. Harriet, you should not say such things. Nathanael is
only absent on business--my business; he will come home soon."

These words, uttered with difficulty, calmed the rising storm. Harrie
laughingly begged pardon, and was satisfied.

"Well, the sooner Nathanael comes, the better. There was a gentleman
last night wanting him."

"What gentleman?"

"Can't tell. He left no name. A little wiry shrimp of a fellow who
seemed