ey had reached the brow of the steeper descent, where
the road takes a sudden determination, and plunges abruptly into the
valley, Below, the roofs of the little town lay white and sparkling,
and straight from a wreath of vapour the graceful tower of St.
Symphorian leapt into the clearer heaven. Beyond, a network of
lights glimmered, like fire-flies, from the vessels at anchor in the
harbour. The Penpoodle Hill, on the further shore, wore a tranquil
halo; and to the right, outside the harbour's mouth, the grey sea was
laced with silver.

"Did you ever see anything more lovely?"

Mrs. Buzza murmured the words with no desire to be answered. It was
the old Trojan formula, and there was peace in the sound of it.

"Do you know," she cried, turning to Sam, "we were very happy
before these people came. We shall never be the same again--never.
Sam, I feel as if our innocence had ended, Oh! I am a wicked woman.
Look below, Sam dear, I have never thought of it before, but how
sweet it would have been to have enclosed the old town in a
ring-fence, and lived our days in quiet! It is too late now; more
will come, and they will build and alter, and no one will be able to
stop it. Even if these people should go, it will never be the same
again. Oh! I am a sinful woman."

Sam looked at his mother. Something familiar, but hitherto
half-comprehended, spoke to him in her words. He drew her arm once
more within his own, and they descended the hill together.

Stealing like ghosts into the front hall of No. 2, Alma Villas, they
were startled to perceive the dining-room door ajar, and a light
shining out into the passage. Creeping forward on tip-toe, they
peeped in.

Beside the table and with his back towards them, sat the Admiral in
his dressing-gown. His right hand grasped the throat of the
double-bass, on the top of which nodded Mrs. Buzza's night-cap.
His left fumbled with a large miniature that lay on the table before
him--a portrait of Mrs. Buzza, taken in the days when she was still
Emily Rogers and the Belle of Portsmouth; and from this to the
instrument and back again the Admiral's gaze wandered, as if
painfully comparing the likeness.

[Illustration: With his back towards them sat the Admiral.]

"Hornaby!" This was the Admiral's Christian name.

"Emily!"

He turned and stared at her stupidly. The look was pitiful.
She flung herself before him.

"Forgive me, Hornaby! I never thought--I mean, it was al