Part 45 (1/2)

He lost sight of her in an instant; it was as if the night had swallowed her up. He listened, and counted her footsteps by the cras.h.i.+ng of them on the s.h.i.+ngle in the deep stillness. They retreated slowly, further and further away into the night. Suddenly the sound of them ceased. Had she paused on her course or had she reached one of the strips of sand left bare by the ebbing tide?

He waited, and listened anxiously. The time pa.s.sed, and no sound reached him. He still listened, with a growing distrust of the darkness. Another moment, and there came a sound from the invisible sh.o.r.e. Far and faint from the beach below, a long cry moaned through the silence. Then all was still once more.

In sudden alarm, he stepped forward to descend to the beach, and to call to her. Before he could cross the path, footsteps rapidly advancing caught his ear. He waited an instant, and the figure of a man pa.s.sed quickly along the walk between him and the sea. It was too dark to discern anything of the stranger's face; it was only possible to see that he was a tall man--as tall as that officer in the merchant-service whose name was Kirke.

The figure pa.s.sed on northward, and was instantly lost to view. Captain Wragge crossed the path, and, advancing a few steps down the beach, stopped and listened again. The crash of footsteps on the s.h.i.+ngle caught his ear once more. Slowly, as the sound had left him, that sound now came back. He called, to guide her to him. She came on till he could just see her--a shadow ascending the s.h.i.+ngly slope, and growing out of the blackness of the night.

”You alarmed me,” he whispered, nervously. ”I was afraid something had happened. I heard you cry out as if you were in pain.”

”Did you?” she said, carelessly. ”I _was_ in pain. It doesn't matter--it's over now.”

Her hand mechanically swung something to and fro as she answered him.

It was the little white silk bag which she had always kept hidden in her bosom up to this time. One of the relics which it held--one of the relics which she had not had the heart to part with before--was gone from its keeping forever. Alone, on a strange sh.o.r.e, she had torn from her the fondest of her virgin memories, the dearest of her virgin hopes.

Alone, on a strange sh.o.r.e, she had taken the lock of Frank's hair from its once-treasured place, and had cast it away from her to the sea and the night.

CHAPTER II.

THE tall man who had pa.s.sed Captain Wragge in the dark proceeded rapidly along the public walk, struck off across a little waste patch of ground, and entered the open door of the Aldborough Hotel. The light in the pa.s.sage, falling full on his face as he pa.s.sed it, proved the truth of Captain Wragge's surmise, and showed the stranger to be Mr. Kirke, of the merchant service.

Meeting the landlord in the pa.s.sage, Mr. Kirke nodded to him with the familiarity of an old customer. ”Have you got the paper?” he asked; ”I want to look at the visitors' list.”

”I have got it in my room, sir,” said the landlord, leading the way into a parlor at the back of the house. ”Are there any friends of yours staying here, do you think?”

Without replying, the seaman turned to the list as soon as the newspaper was placed in his hand, and ran his finger down it, name by name.

The finger suddenly stopped at this line: ”Sea-view Cottage; Mr. Noel Vanstone.” Kirke of the merchant-service repeated the name to himself, and put down the paper thoughtfully.

”Have you found anybody you know, captain?” asked the landlord.

”I have found a name I know--a name my father used often to speak of in his time. Is this Mr. Vanstone a family man? Do you know if there is a young lady in the house?”

”I can't say, captain. My wife will be here directly; she is sure to know. It must have been some time ago, if your father knew this Mr.

Vanstone?”

”It _was_ some time ago. My father knew a subaltern officer of that name when he was with his regiment in Canada. It would be curious if the person here turned out to be the same man, and if that young lady was his daughter.”

”Excuse me, captain--but the young lady seems to hang a little on your mind,” said the landlord, with a pleasant smile.

Mr. Kirke looked as if the form which his host's good-humor had just taken was not quite to his mind. He returned abruptly to the subaltern officer and the regiment in Canada. ”That poor fellow's story was as miserable a one as ever I heard,” he said, looking back again absently at the visitors' list.

”Would there be any harm in telling it, sir?” asked the landlord.

”Miserable or not, a story's a story, when you know it to be true.”

Mr. Kirke hesitated. ”I hardly think I should be doing right to tell it,” he said. ”If this man, or any relations of his, are still alive, it is not a story they might like strangers to know. All I can tell you is, that my father was the salvation of that young officer under very dreadful circ.u.mstances. They parted in Canada. My father remained with his regiment; the young officer sold out and returned to England, and from that moment they lost sight of each other. It would be curious if this Vanstone here was the same man. It would be curious--”

He suddenly checked himself just as another reference to ”the young lady” was on the point of pa.s.sing his lips. At the same moment the landlord's wife came in, and Mr. Kirke at once transferred his inquiries to the higher authority in the house.

”Do you know anything of this Mr. Vanstone who is down here on the visitors' list?” asked the sailor. ”Is he an old man?”

”He's a miserable little creature to look at,” replied the landlady; ”but he's not old, captain.”

”Then he's not the man I mean. Perhaps he is the man's son? Has he got any ladies with him?”