ver the loyal,
wifely words. Not neglectful, not faithless, only ill, and unable to
write--she crushed every other thought out of her heart but that. She
rose, took her hat, and quitted the room. Miss Waddle looked after her,
and shook her head dismally.

"Poor dear!" she thought, "only ill, indeed! Mr. Laurence, if that be
his name, is a very good-looking young man, and there, it's my opinion,
the young man's goodness begins and ends. He may not have deserted her,
but it looks uncommonly like it. Why, he was tired of her before they
were here a week."

Then Miss Waddle, the elder, went and took "tired Nature's sweet
restorer, balmy"--tea, and Mrs. Laurence, with all hope and life crushed
out of her fair young face, went down along the sands, where so often in
the first happy days they had wandered together. Only seven weeks ago
since she had left all for him--friends, home, lover, truth and
honor--why, it seemed years to look back upon. She felt old and worn and
tired--a horrible creeping fear clutched her heart. Why did he not
write--why did he not come?

She reached the little grassy hillock and sat down, too weak and
spiritless, even to walk on. Cold and gray, the twilight was falling,
cold and gray spread the low lying twilight sky, cold and gray the dim
sea melted into it in the distance, cold and gray like her life. It was
very lonely, no human being besides herself was to be seen, not even a
sea bird skimmed the sullen waters. With her hands folded in her lap,
her sad, yearning eyes fixed on the dreary sea, she sat still, thinking,
thinking. Why did he not write--why did he not come?

Suddenly, coming as if from the cottage, a figure appeared in view, the
solitary figure of a man, moving rapidly toward her over the sands. She
looked up quickly, uttered a faint cry of recognition and hope. As he
had come abruptly upon them once before, Mr. Liston came abruptly upon
her again. Then it had been to bear her darling away from her--now it
was to bring her news of him, she knew.

She did not rise to meet him. Her heart beat so fast with alternate hope
and fear that for an instant she turned faint. In that instant he was
beside her. He lifted his hat.

"Mrs. Laurence?" he said, interrogatively, "they told me at the house I
should find you here. They wished to call you in, but this is a better
place for our meeting, so I sought you out."

She made a breathless, impatient gesture.

"You have a letter for me?" sh