der his head. Then with her
free hand she unfastened her serge skirt and tucked it round him. When
he coughed, she slipped off her flannel petticoat and wrapped it round
his head and throat, and almost before he had shut his eyes she heard
his even breathing.

"O darling Dick!" said Susie, under her breath.

She crept as near to him as she could, sheltering him in the crevice of
the cliff. Her one flimsy petticoat was soaked, and her legs felt like
ice; but those little choking snores filled her with a joy almost too
great for words.

The rain beat in her face and flicked her wet hair against it like the
lash of a whip; but Susie felt nothing except the warm comfort of the
little body behind her, saw nothing but the gleaming row of lights that
marked the Parade. All her heart moved in one passionate cry, "If mother
will only forgive me!" And then she realized, with a glow of happiness,
that she had never really doubted it; that she had known quite well all
the time that there would be no need for tears or protestations--mother
would understand.

The stars came out and the leaping waves seemed to fall asleep, whilst
Susie, with wide-awake eyes, settled herself for the interminable night.
But nature is very kind to the remorseful sinner as well as to the happy
and the innocent, and presently her head fell back against Dick's
comfortable, cosy shoulder, and she too fell into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER IX.

Meanwhile Tom and Mrs. Beauchamp had bought the sand-shoes and various
other little necessaries, had had tea in an Oriental coffee shop, and, as
the climax of a delightful afternoon, were coming home on the top of a
tram--a leisurely proceeding that gave plenty of time for enjoyment. The
weather had clouded over early in the afternoon, but they were halfway
home before a fine rain began to fall and to blot out the shimmering sea.
Just at sunset it cleared up for a little while, and a long path of gold
stretched straight away to the horizon, showing the rocks and the island
silhouetted very clear and black against a pale yellow sky.

"Mother," said Tom suddenly, "do the goats ever come down to drink?"

"What goats?"

"The goats on the island?"

"And do they drink what?"

"The sea."

"Oh dear no, Tom; they would not drink the sea-water--it is much too
salt. I expect they stay on the island all the summer and come home in
winter. I know their masters go and look after them at low tide."

"Well, is