ducated.'

'You are kind to say so, Miss,' remarked Singing Sal, who was evidently
greatly pleased. 'But it's little education I ever got, except from
two or three books I have made companions of, like. I kept my father's
shop in Tunbridge until he married a second time; then it grew too hot
for me, rather; and so I took to the road, and I've never regretted it.
Human nature is what I like to look at; and if I may make so bold as to
say it, I guess there's more human nature among the poor folk than
among the rich. But I'll tell you about that some other time,' she
added, returning to her ordinary free-and-easy manner. 'I see you want
to go. You've looked at your watch twice.'

'But you're going to Brighton also?' said Nan, somewhat timidly.

'Not with you, Miss,' was the prompt reply. 'No, no. But perhaps, if
it is not making too free, you will be so friendly as to tell me your
name?'

'My name is Anne Beresford, and I live in Brunswick Terrace,' said Nan.

'Thank ye kindly, Miss,' said Singing Sal, regarding the young lady
with great friendliness and respect. 'Maybe I shall see you some other
day on the downs, for I think you are as fond of them as I am myself.
Good-bye, Miss.'

She rose with some sense of natural courtesy. But she rather turned
away, also; and she kept her hands behind her. So Nan bade her
good-bye in return; and continued on her way along the lonely cliffs.

Some considerable time thereafter, when Nan Beresford was nearing
Brighton, she turned and looked behind her; and she could make out, on
the summit of one of the rounded undulations towards Rottingdean, the
figure of a woman, whom she at once guessed to be Singing Sal. That
solitary figure was impressive there--high up on the edge of the slope;
the still, shining sea far below her; and all around her and illumining
her, as it were, the reddening glow flooding over from the westering
sun. Nan--perhaps moved by some subtle compunction, perhaps only in
token of friendly remembrance--took out her handkerchief and waved it
twice; but there was no response.

CHAPTER II.

IN BRUNSWICK TERRACE.

That same afternoon all Brighton was astir with curiosity because of a
large vessel that had slowly come in from the west before an almost
imperceptible breeze. She came unusually, and, as some thought,
dangerously close in shore; and no doubt she looked even larger than
she really was, for she had every stitch of canvas set, from h