stars were already visible, dimly shining through a gauze-like veil of
mist stretched all over the sky, and from behind a black line of firs on
the top of a distant hill the moon had slowly risen, and was casting a
soft weird light upon the saddened landscape. Grey wreaths of
phantom-like mist were floating away across the moor, and a faint breeze
had sprung up, and was moaning in the pine plantation when they reached
the hand-gate. They paused for a moment to listen, and the dull roar of
the sea from below mingled with it in their ears. She turned away with a
shudder.

"Come!" she said; "that sound makes me melancholy."

"I like it," he answered. "Nature is an exquisite musician. I never yet
heard the sea speak in a tone which I did not love to hear. Listen to
that slow mournful rise of sound, reaching almost to intensity, and then
dying away so sadly--with the sadness that thrills. Ah! did you hear
that? The shrieking of those pebbles dragged down to the sea, and crying
out in almost human agony. I love the sea."

"Is that why you came to this desolate part of the world?" she asked.

"Partly."

"Tell me the whole reason," she said abruptly. "Was there anything
special which made you fix on this neighborhood? You may think me
curious, if you like--but I want to know."

"I had a vow to keep," he answered hoarsely. "You must ask me no more. I
cannot tell you."

Her heart sank like lead. A vow to keep. There was something ominous in
the sound of those words. She stole a glance at him as they walked on in
silence, and again her judgments seemed put to confusion and her hopes
revived. His face, dimly seen in the shadows of the plantation, was
suddenly illuminated by a pale quivering moonbeam, as they passed
through a slight opening. Could these be the features of a murderer? Her
whole heart rebelled against her understanding, and cried out "No!" For
the first time she realized the aesthetic beauty of his face, scarred and
wasted though it was by the deep lines of intellectual toil and
consuming sorrow. There was not a line out of place, save where his
cheek-bones projected slightly, owing to his extreme thinness, and left
deep hollows under his eyes. Nor was his expression the expression of a
guilty man, for, notwithstanding the intense melancholy which dwelt
always in his dark eyes, and seemed written into every feature, there
was blended with it a strange pride, the slight yet wholesome contempt
of a man consciou