d folly.

Captain Carey and Tardif met us at the farm-yard gate, but Olivia could
not speak to them; and we passed them in silence, challenged by their
inquisitive looks. She could only bid me good-by in a tremulous voice;
and I watched her go on into her own little room, and close the door
between us. That was the last I should see of her before my marriage.

Tardif walked with us to the top of the cliff, and made me a formal,
congratulatory speech before quitting us. When he was gone, Captain
Carey stood still until he was quite out of hearing, and then stretched
out his hand toward the thatched roof, yellow with stone-crop and
lichens.

"This is a serious business, Martin," he said, looking sternly at me;
"you are in love with that girl."

"I love her with all my heart and soul!" I cried.

CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH.

IN A FIX.

Yes, I loved Olivia with all my heart and soul.

I had not known it myself till that moment; and now I acknowledged it
boldly, almost defiantly, with a strange mingling of delight and pain in
the confession.

Yet the words startled me as I uttered them. They had involved in them
so many unpleasant consequences, so much chagrin and bitterness as their
practical result, that I stood aghast--even while my pulses throbbed,
and my heart beat high, with the novel rapture of loving any woman as I
loved Olivia. If I followed out my avowal to its just issue, I should be
a traitor to Julia; and all my life up to the present moment would be
lost to me. I had scarcely spoken it before I dropped my head on my
hands with a groan.

"Come, come, my poor fellow!" said Captain Carey, who could never see a
dog with his tail between his legs without whistling to him and patting
him, "we must see what can be done."

It was neither a time nor a place for the indulgence of emotion of any
kind. It was impossible for me to remain on the cliffs, bemoaning my
unhappy fate. I strode on doggedly down the path, kicking the loose
stones into the water as they came in my way. Captain Carey followed,
whistling softly to himself, and, of all the tunes in the world, he
chose the one to the "Three Fishers," which I had sung to Olivia. He
continued doing so after we were aboard the yacht, and I saw the boatmen
exchange apprehensive glances.

"We shall have wind enough, without whistling for it, before we reach
Guernsey," said one of them, after a while; and Captain Carey relapsed
into silence. We scarcely spok