hout assistance. He had not done
it in anger. Simply the consciousness of possessing it had been a pain
intolerable to him. So he had destroyed it; but the letter he had kept
through all the dreary months that had followed that awful time. It was
all that was left to him of one whom he had loved passionately, blindly,
foolishly, and who had ceased to love him on the day, now nearly a year
ago, when his friends had ceased to call him by the nickname of
Hercules, that had been his from his boyhood.

And this was her wedding-day--a day of entrancing sunshine, of magic
breezes, of perfect June.

He was picturing her to himself as he sat there, just as he had pictured
her often--ah, often--in the old days.

From his place near the altar he watched her coming towards him up the
great, white-decked church. Her eyes were shining with unclouded
happiness. Behind her bridal veil he caught a glimpse of the exquisite
beauty that chained his heart. Straight towards him the vision moved,
and he--he braced himself to meet it.

A sharp pang of physical pain suddenly wrung his nerves, and in a moment
the vision had passed from his eyes. He groaned and once more covered
his face. Yes, it was her wedding-day. She was there before the altar in
all the splendour of her youth and her loveliness. But he was alone
with his suffering, his broken life, and the long, long, empty years
stretching away before him.

He awoke to the soft splashing of the summer tide, out beyond the
sand-dunes, and he heard again the clear, low whistle which before had
disturbed his dream.

He remained motionless, and a dim, detached wonder crossed his mind. He
had thought himself quite alone.

Again the whistle sounded. It seemed to come from immediately below him.
Slowly and painfully he raised himself.

The next instant an enormous Newfoundland dog rushed panting into his
retreat and proceeded to search every inch of the place with violent
haste. The man on the bench sat still and watched him, but when the
animal with a sudden, clumsy movement knocked his crutches on to the
floor and out of his reach, he uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

The dog gave him a startled glance and continued his headlong
investigation. He was very wet, and he left a trail of sea water
wherever he went. Finally he bounded out as hurriedly as he had entered,
and Hugh Durant was left a prisoner, the nearest of his crutches a full
yard away.

He sat and stared at them with a