ter all, the
accident had been her fault, for if she had not been so ill-behaved
about the Enemy and the basket, it would not have happened.

Stumbling on, with these things in her mind, she expected every moment
to see the pier, but there were still only rocks and cliffs and sea.
The waves came rolling in, each one a tiny bit further than the last,
and one splashed suddenly so near her, that it covered her with spray.
She started back to avoid it; but "after all," she thought the next
minute, "it couldn't make me wetter than I am." On, on, on, and now
every step began to be more and more painful, for the sand was so wet
that she had to walk on the rough stony beach close to the foot of the
cliffs. Poor Susan! she felt very tired and desolate; her feet ached,
and her arms ached, and her head ached, she would have been thankful to
meet people now, even though they might laugh at her. Worst of all, the
thought suddenly darted into her mind that she had lost the way; she
stood still and looked vainly round for some familiar object, something
to guide her--there was nothing. As far as she could see, it was all
the same--tall white cliffs, yellow sand, and tossing waves. The only
living creature besides herself was a beautiful grey and white bird with
long wings which flew skimming about over the water, and sometimes
dipped down into it. As Susan watched it, she remembered where she had
seen birds of that kind before, and who had told her that they were
called sea-gulls; the steamboat, and Monsieur La Roche's kind voice came
back to her. How good he had been, and how badly she had repaid him
since; she had indeed been ungrateful and naughty to laugh at him. How
thankful she would be to see him now, and to hear him say, "My leetle
friend, Mees Susanne!" But there was no chance of that; Monsieur had
helped her once in trouble, but he could not come down from the skies to
her assistance, and there was no one in sight on land or sea. Suddenly
she felt too tired and aching and miserable to struggle on any further,
and sinking down on the hard beach like a little damp heap of clothes,
she hugged Grace up to her breast and hid her face against her. She sat
in this way for some minutes, hearing nothing but the breaking of the
waves on the shore and the rattle of the pebbles, when suddenly another
noise caught her ear--the regular tramp, tramp of a footstep crushing
down on the hard loose stones. She looked up; was it a dr