had had his gun. Now and again it stopped,
and when it stopped he lay flat to the ground and held his breath, lest
it should discover him. When it went on, he went on.

When he came to the end of the ridge he saw that the nebulous something
had apparently stopped just where his house must be.

And then, every sense on the strain, he heard his own name called
softly, and he laughed to himself for very joy of it, and lay still to
hear it again, and laughed once more to think that in her simplicity she
still thought of him as "Mr. Gard." He would teach her to call him
"Steen," as his mother used to do.

Then he got up quickly and cried, as softly as herself, but with joy and
laughter in his voice--

"Why, Nance! My dear, I was not sure whether you were a ghost or a
devil-fish;" and he sprang down towards her.

And then, to his amazement, he saw that she was clad only in the
clinging white garment in which he had seen her swim.

Her next words confounded him.

"Is Bernel here?"

"Bernel, Nance? No, dear, he is not here. Why--"

"Did he not get here last night?" she jerked sharply.

"No. No one. I was hoping--"

But she had sunk down against the great stones of the shelter, with her
hands before her face.

"Mon Gyu, mon Gyu! Then he is dead! Oh, my poor one! My dear one!"

"Nance! Nance! What is it all, dearest? Did Bernel try to come across
last night--"

"Yes, yes! He would come. He said you must be starving. We were all
anxious about you--"

"And he tried to swim across?"

"Yes, yes! And he is drowned! Oh, my poor, poor boy!"

She was shaking with the sudden chill of dreadful loss. He stooped, and
felt inside the shelter with a long arm for the old woollen cloak and
wrapped her carefully in it. He raked out the blanket and made her sit
with it tucked about her feet. And she was passive in his hands, with
thought as yet for nothing but her loss.

She was shaken with broken sobs, and in the face of grief such as this
he could find no words. What could he say? All the words in the world
could not bring back the dead.

And it was through him this great sorrow had come upon her. He seemed
fated to bring misfortune on their house.

He wondered if she would hate him for it, though she must know he had
had no more to do with the matter than with Tom's death.

He put a protecting arm round the old cloak, tentatively, and in some
fear lest she might resent it, but knew no other way to convey to her
what