shed, had come back into the hall, and the twins scampered up the
stairs at the unaccustomed sternness of his voice. He had a glass of wine
and some biscuits in his hand, and he spoke almost as severely to Mrs.
Beauchamp as he had done to the twins. "Of course I am going with you. I
have rugs and mackintoshes and some brandy. Can you suggest anything
else? No," as she returned the half-emptied glass; "drink _all_ the wine.
I _insist_ on it."

Mrs. Beauchamp obeyed mechanically. She seemed to feel new life, a sense
of protection, an atmosphere of help; there was some one else to command
and to decide.

The last sight she saw as she went out into the night was Dot's fuzzy
head leaning over the banisters at a dangerous angle.

CHAPTER XII.

Outside the rain had lessened, and the stars shone more securely. Without
a word she hurried down the cross street and on to the Parade by her
companion's side, but her feet no longer lagged. Hope had sprung anew in
her heart, and as they turned the corner she looked up at him smiling.

"I only know you as 'the father of the twins,'" she said, "and it is a
long address."

"My name is Amherst." Then a moment later, as they picked their way
across the muddy road to the top of the steps, "I have been trying all
this time to find a reason, and I can only frame an excuse--_they have no
mother_!"

"Oh, poor twins!" she said.

The tide was distinctly lower, and the wind had died down. The long waves
rolled in with almost oily smoothness, and showed no ridge of foam when
they broke upon the beach. Patches of seaweed caught and reflected the
moonlight.

The old sailor was baling out the boat, and half a dozen hands held her
to the shore. An air of excitement pervaded every one, and one or two men
offered their services rather sheepishly; but the Royal Navy did not need
assistance.

He settled Mrs. Beauchamp in the bow, with the rugs for a cushion; then
he pushed off with his oar, and in another minute they were gliding out
from under the shadow of the cliff, making straight for the island in
front of them.

Mr. Amherst had taken the other oar, and was rowing bow. On their left
little crests of half-submerged rocks showed black against the sea, and
on the far horizon the false dawn made a silver line between sky and sea.

Mrs. Beauchamp held the lines mechanically and leant forward, straining
her eyes to steer for a possible landing-place; but the beating of her
heart had