even with his
hatred and malice was mingled a gleam of admiration at the cleverness
that had outwitted him. He hurried on towards the cliff path, but the
sunset light was already fading into dusk, and he had to choose his
footing more carefully. When he reached the point where the rope began,
Marie had already gone down and was leaning on the rock beside her
father. Had he been near he might have noticed a strange expression in
her eyes, as she furtively watched the precipitous descent. The purple
shadows now filled both sky and sea, and the island opposite reared its
grand outline solemnly in the twilight depths, as though sitting in
eternal judgment on the transient ways of men. The evening star shone
softly above the sea. Suddenly a crash, followed by one sharp cry, was
heard; then all was still.

"Good God! That's some one fallen down the path--why don't you go and
see, child?" but Marie seemed as if she could not stir. Old Andre slowly
dragged himself on to his feet, and took her arm, and they went
together. At the foot of the path they found the body of Pierre, dead,
his head having struck against a rock.

"He must have missed his footing in the dark," said Andre, when they had
rowed round to the fishing village to carry the news, and the solitary
constable had bustled forth, and was endeavouring to collect information
about the accident from the only two witnesses, of whom the girl seemed
to have lost the power of speech.

"He must have missed his footing in the dark; and then the rope broke
with his weight and the clutch he give it. It lies there all loose on
the ground."

"It shouldn't have broken," said the constable. "But I always did say
we'd ought to have an iron chain down there."

CHAPTER III.

Fifty years had passed, with all their seasons' changes, and the
changing life of nature both by land and sea, and had made as little
impression on the island as the ceaseless dashing of the waves against
its coast. The cliffs, the caves and the sea-beaten boulders were the
same; the colours of the bracken on the September hills, and of the sea
anemones in their green, pellucid pools, were the same, and the
fishermen's path down to the cove was the same. No iron chain had been
put there, but the rope had never broken again.

A violent south-west gale was blowing, driving scud and sea-foam before
it, while ever new armies of rain-clouds advanced threateningly across
the shadowy waters--mighty, moving mis