f the impression
it made upon his canine mind, refused to take his food. She saw
this--but made no attempt to coax or persuade him. Opening a drawer in
her oaken press, she took out pen, ink, and paper, and sitting down at
the table wrote a letter. It was not a long letter--for it was finished,
put in an envelope and sealed in less than ten minutes. Addressing it
"To Angus"--she left it close under the lamp where the light might fall
upon it. Then she looked around her. Everything was very quiet. Charlie
alone was restless--and sat on his tiny haunches, trembling nervously,
refusing to eat, and watching her every movement. She stooped suddenly
and kissed him--then without hat or cloak, went out, closing the cottage
door behind her.

What a night it was! What a scene of wild sky splendour! Overhead the
moon, now at the full, raced through clouds of pearl-grey, lightening to
milky whiteness, and the wind played among the trees as though with
giant hands, bending them to and fro like reeds, and rustling through
the foliage with a swishing sound like that of falling water. The ripple
of the hill-torrent was almost inaudible, overwhelmed as it was by the
roar of the gale and the low thunder of the sea--and Mary, going swiftly
up the "coombe" to the churchyard, was caught by the blast like a leaf,
and blown to and fro, till all her hair came tumbling about her face and
almost blinded her eyes. But she scarcely heeded this. She was not
conscious of the weather--she knew nothing of the hour. She saw the
moon--the white, cold moon, staring at her now and then between
pinnacles of cloud--and whenever it gleamed whitely upon her path, she
thought of David Helmsley's dead face--its still smile--its peacefully
closed eyelids. And with that face ever before her, she went to his
grave. A humble grave--with the clods of earth still fresh and brown
upon it--the chosen grave of "one of the richest men in the world!" She
repeated this phrase over and over again to herself, not knowing why she
did so. Then she knelt down and tried to pray, but could find no
words--save "O God, bless my dear love, and make him happy!" It was
foolish to say this so often,--God would be tired of it, she thought
dreamily--but--after all--there was nothing else to pray for! She rose,
and stood a moment--thinking--then she said aloud--"Good-night, David!
Dear old David, you meant to make me so happy! Good-night! Sleep well!"

Something frightened her at this mo