reen as an emerald when you look deep into its
depths; and then she trails her fingers in the sea and smiles at Claude.

"Oh, Empey," she says, "how nice it would be if one of Undine's
sea-relations were to put a coral necklace, all red and glittering, into
my hand!"

"Or some strings of pearls," suggests Tim.

"She will have a set of pearls one day," remarks Claude, in that quiet
tone of his. "They were my mother's, and they are waiting in India for
Bee."

There is an unwonted softness in Tim's black eyes. He is a
stout-hearted, matter-of-fact lad, people say, not given to dreaming;
and yet he is seeing visions this afternoon. He sees Bee, not in her
sailor's hat and girlish frock, but in white robes, with all her wealth
of hair plaited up, and the pearls glistening on her neck. He sees the
merry face grown graver, yet lovelier than ever; and then he tries to
picture her home in that far-off land that he will never behold; a land
of dark faces, and temples, and palms, and flowers.

And Claude will be with her always; what a beautiful poetical life these
two will live together! All the poetry is for them, and all the prose
for Tim. His thoughts don't shape themselves into these very words,
perhaps; but he does certainly feel that it is a dull path which lies
before Tim Crooke.

While he dreams, he pulls as steadily as usual, and they are drawing
nearer and nearer to the little cove. Soon they gain a full view of
those cliffs where the sea-birds sit, tier upon tier, like spectators in
a circus, and the calm air is filled with strange cries. Bee claps her
hands in delight; the sight is so novel, and the birds that have taken
wing sweep so gracefully around their rocky haunts, that there is a
charm, past explaining, in the whole scene.

Meanwhile the tide is rising fast and floats the boat onward to White
Cove. They are making for a landing-place just at the foot of the
sea-birds' cliff, and Tim pulls cautiously, telling Claude to keep a
sharp look-out for the rocks that lie treacherously hiding under the
flood.

"There's the Chair!" cries Bee suddenly. "Look, Empey, we are quite
close to it! It was Mr. Carey who gave it that name, because you see
it's exactly like a chair, and it has a seat, and a little ledge where
your feet may rest. Mr. Carey got up there once; it's quite easy to
climb."

"At high water the tide comes almost up to the footstool of the Chair,"
says Tim. "I've noticed it standing up out of th