e town.

Wardlaw did not come, and Seaton did not move from his ambush.

Twelve o'clock boomed, and Wardlaw never came, and Seaton never moved.

Soon after midnight General Rolleston's hall door opened, and a figure
appeared in a flood of light. Seaton's eye gleamed at the light, for it
was young Wardlaw, with a footman at his back holding a lighted lamp.

Wardlaw, however, seemed in no hurry to leave the house, and the reason
soon appeared; he was joined by Helen Rolleston, and she was equipped for
walking. The watcher saw her serene face shine in the light. The general
himself came next; and, as they left the door, out came Tom with a
blunderbuss and brought up the rear. Seaton drew behind the trees, and
postponed, but did not resign, his purpose.

Steps and murmurings came, and passed him, and receded.

The only words he caught distinctly came from Wardlaw, as he passed. "It
is nearly high tide. I fear we must make haste."

Seaton followed the whole party at a short distance, feeling sure they
would eventually separate and give him his opportunity with Wardlaw.

They went down to the harbor and took a boat; Seaton came nearer, and
learned they were going on board the great steamer bound for England,
that loomed so black, with monstrous eyes of fire.

They put off, and Seaton stood baffled.

Presently the black monster, with enormous eyes of fire, spouted her
steam like a Leviathan, and then was still; next the smoke puffed, the
heavy paddles revolved, and she rushed out of the harbor; and Seaton sat
down upon the ground, and all seemed ended. Helen gone to England!
Wardlaw gone with her! Love and revenge had alike eluded him. He looked
up at the sky and played with the pebbles at his feet, stupidly,
stupidly. He wondered why he was born; why he consented to live a single
minute after this. His angel and his demon gone home together! And he
left here!

He wrote a few lines on the paper he had intended for Wardlaw, sprinkled
them with sand, and put them in his bosom, then stretched himself out
with a weary moan, like a dying dog, to wait the flow of the tide, and,
with it, Death. Whether or not his resolution or his madness could have
carried him so far cannot be known, for even as the water rippled in,
and, trickling under his back, chilled him to the bone, a silvery sound
struck his ear. He started to his feet, and life and its joys rushed back
upon him. It was the voice of the woman he loved so madly.