ould never
come home without him. Now Bondo Emmins never loved Luke Merlyn, for
Luke won every prize that Bondo coveted; and Bondo was not a hero to
admire such superior skill. When Clarice heard his words, and saw that
he was going out with her father, her heart stood still; it did not
bless him; she turned away quickly, faint, cold, shivering. What he said
had to her ears the sound of an assurance that this search was vain.

All day there was sad waiting, weary watching, around Diver's Bay. And
late in the afternoon but one or two of the boats that went out in
search had returned.

Towards evening Clarice walked away to the Point, three miles off;
thence she could watch the boats as they approached the Bay from the
ocean. Once before, that day, under the scorching noontide sun, she had
gone thither,--and now again, for she could not endure the sympathy of
friends or the wondering watch of curious eyes. It was better than to
stand and wait,--better than to face the grief of Merlyn's wife and
children,--better than to see the pity in her neighbors' faces, or even
than to hear the voice of her own mother.

The waves had freight for her that evening. When the tide came in, and
her eyes were lifted, gazing afar, scanning the broad expanse of water
with such searching, anxious vision, as, it seemed, nothing could
escape, Luke Merlyn's cap was dashed to her very feet, tossed from the
grave.

Moving back to escape the encroaching tide, Clarice saw the cap lying,
caught on the cragged point of rock before her. Oh, she knew it well!
She stooped,--she took it up,--she need not wait for any other token.
She dared not look upon the sea again. She turned away. But whither?
Where now was her home? So long a time, since she was a child, it had
been in the heart of Luke! Where was that heart lying? What meant this
token sent to her from the deep sea? Oh, life and love! was not all now
over? Heart still, hand powerless, home lost, she sat on the beach till
night fell. At sunset she stood up to look once more up and down the
mighty field of waters, along the shore, as far as her eyes could
reach,--but saw nothing. Then she sat down again, and waited until long
after the stars appeared. Once or twice the thought that her mother
would wonder at her long absence moved her; but she impatiently
controlled the feeble impulse to arise and return, until she recalled
the words of Bondo Emmins. Luke's mother, too,--and the cap in her care.
I