I have no idea."

"No more have I."

Nor had he.

When they reached land he made the boat fast and turned to walk up to
the house with her. He found her standing very still just behind him at
the edge of the sea, with a startled look on her face.

"What is it, Vere?" he asked.

"Hush!"

She held up her hand and bent her head a little to one side, as one
listening intently.

"I thought I heard--I did hear--something--"

"Something?"

"Yes--so strange--I can't hear it now."

"What was it like?"

She looked fixedly at him.

"Like some one crying--horribly."

"Where? Near us?"

"Not far. Listen again."

He obeyed, holding his breath. But he heard nothing except the very
faint lapping of the sea at their feet.

"Perhaps I imagined it," she said at length.

"Let us go up to the house," he said. "Come, Vere."

He had a sudden wish to take her into the house. But she remained where
she was.

"Could it have been fancy, Monsieur Emile?"

"No doubt."

Her eyes were intensely grave, almost frightened.

"But--just look, will you? Perhaps there really is somebody."

"Where? It's so dark."

Artois hesitated; but Vere's face was full of resolution, and he turned
reluctantly to obey her. As he did so there came to them both through
the dark the sound of a woman crying and sobbing convulsively.

"What is it? Oh, who can it be?" Vere cried out.

She went swiftly towards the sound.

Artois followed, and found her bending down over the figure of a girl
who was crouching against the cliff, and touching her shoulder.

"What is it? What is the matter? Tell me."

The girl looked up, startled, and showed a passionate face that was
horribly disfigured. Upon the right cheek, extending from the temple
almost to the line of the jaw, a razor had cut a sign, a brutal sign
of the cross. As Vere saw it, showing redly through the darkness,
she recoiled. The girl read the meaning of her movement, and shrank
backward, putting up her hand to cover the wound. But Vere recovered
instantly, and bent down once more, intent only on trying to comfort
this sorrow, whose violence seemed to open to her a door into a new and
frightful world.

"Vere!" said Artois. "Vere, you had better--"

The girl turned round to him.

"It must be Peppina!" she said.

"Yes. But--"

"Please go up to the house, Monsieur Emile. I will come in a moment."

"But I can't leave you--"

"Please go. Just tell Madre I'm soon coming."

There