t them with the noises she had heard indoors she
dismissed the whole subject, and went to bed again.

* * *

Jocelyn had promised to pay an early visit to ascertain the state of
Mrs. Pierston's health after her night's rest, her precarious condition
being more obvious to him than to Avice, and making him a little
anxious. Subsequent events caused him to remember that while he was
dressing he casually observed two or three boatmen standing near the
cliff beyond the village, and apparently watching with deep interest
what seemed to be a boat far away towards the opposite shore of South
Wessex. At half-past eight he came from the door of the inn and went
straight to Mrs. Pierston's. On approaching he discovered that a strange
expression which seemed to hang about the house-front that morning was
more than a fancy, the gate, door, and two windows being open, though
the blinds of other windows were not drawn up, the whole lending a
vacant, dazed look to the domicile, as of a person gaping in sudden
stultification. Nobody answered his knock, and walking into the
dining-room he found that no breakfast had been laid. His flashing
thought was, 'Mrs. Pierston is dead.'

While standing in the room somebody came downstairs, and Jocelyn
encountered Ruth Stockwool, an open letter fluttering in her hand.

'O Mr. Pierston, Mr. Pierston! The Lord-a-Lord!'

'What? Mrs. Pierston--'

'No, no! Miss Avice! She is gone!--yes--gone! Read ye this, sir. It was
left in her bedroom, and we be fairly gallied out of our senses!'

He took the letter and confusedly beheld that it was in two
handwritings, the first section being in Avice's:

'MY DEAR MOTHER,--How ever will you forgive me for what I have done!
So deceitful as it seems. And yet till this night I had no idea of
deceiving either you or Mr. Pierston.

'Last night at ten o'clock I went out, as you may have guessed, to see
Mr. Leverre for the last time, and to give him back his books, letters,
and little presents to me. I went only a few steps--to Bow-and-Arrow
Castle, where we met as we had agreed to do, since he could not call.
When I reached the place I found him there waiting, but quite ill.
He had been unwell at his mother's house for some days, and had been
obliged to stay in bed, but he had got up on purpose to come and bid
me good-bye. The over-exertion of the journey upset him, and though we
stayed and stayed till twelve o'clock he