eal is ended, Aunt Hetty repairs to the sofa to read
Jeremy Taylor; and Dolly, having discovered an illustrated copy of the
"Pilgrim's Progress," is silently gloating over a picture of Apollyon,
dragon-winged, with smoke coming out of his nostrils. For fifteen or
twenty minutes Claude and Bee whisper by the open window, and then a
gentle sound from the sofa tells them that good Jeremy has lulled Aunt
Hetty to repose.

Claude gives Bee an expressive glance which plainly says, "Come along."
Dolly's back is turned towards them; moreover, she has just lighted upon
a whole family of fiends, and cannot take her eyes off the book. So the
pair slip out of the room unheard and unseen, and gain the beach without
let or hindrance.

They shun the pier, and foot it briskly along the shore till they have
left most of the promenaders behind. On and on they go till they get to
the low rocks, and the smooth yellow sands strewn with mussel and cockle
shells; and then they sit down to rest, and listen to the music of the
tide.

"You must take me to White Cove one day, Empey," says Bee, after a
pause. "There are the most lovely shells to be found there, and agates,
and things. Mr. Carey said that somebody once picked up a bit of amber
there."

"I could row you there at once," returns Claude, "if it wasn't for this
wrist of mine."

"Oh, but it's Sunday; Aunt Hetty wouldn't like us to go."

"She wouldn't mind it if I reasoned with her," responds Mr. Molyneux
with perfect confidence in his own powers of argument. "All those little
prejudices of hers could soon be got rid of."

"Drake says it's rather dangerous near White Cove," observes Bee after
another silence; "because of all the sunken rocks, you know."

"No, I don't know: I've never been there. But you've set me longing to
see the place, old chap."

"Oh, it's lovely!" she cries, with enthusiasm. "Thousands and thousands
of sea-birds sit on the cliffs; and there are lots of little caves, all
hung with silky green sea-weeds, so quiet and cool."

Claude leans back against the low rock behind him, and looks out across
the sea with eyes half-closed. The horizon line is sharp and clear
to-day; the blue of the sky meets, but does not mingle with the deeper
blue of the ocean; a few white sails can be distinctly seen. Now and
then a gull flashes silvery wings in the sunshine, and its cry comes
wailing across the water to the shore.

"Why, there's Tim!" says Bee, pointing to a broad-