jured by the absence of music and company, went away; the old
man sat still for some time, then he left.

I was alone then with the smoker, who troubled himself very little about
me. The coquettish moon threw a wide, laughing gleam around, then
vanished. A whole pile of thick, dark clouds came up from the west and
hid her fair face--by them the thick, soft gloom had deepened into
darkness. I was far from expecting anything tragical as I sat there,
cold and desolate, lonely. As it was, the Chain Pier was more like home
to me than any other spot on earth, because of the one hour I had spent
there.

The wind began to freshen and blow coldly where I sat. I had no motive
in changing my seat, except to escape the sharpness of the breeze. I
crossed to the other side, where the white line of cliffs lay--away from
the brilliant lights of the west pier, hidden behind the wooden
structure erected to shelter those on the pier. I gave myself up to my
dreams.

I cannot tell how it was, but to-night many ghostly stories that I had
read about piers came to my mind. For instance, now, how easy it would
be for any man to steal up to me through the thick, soft, shadowy mist,
and murder me before I had time even to utter a cry, I might be thrown
over into the sea.

Then I said to myself, what a foolish thought! I was close to many
people, such a murder was quite impossible. Yet I was foolish enough to
turn my head and try to peer through the darkness to see if any one was
near.

The tall, slender figure of a woman dressed in a dark cloak was slowly
walking up the middle of the pier. She could not see me, but I saw
her--plainly, distinctly. I noticed the grace of her movements, her
grand carriage. She was closely veiled, so that I could not see her
face. But, unless I was much mistaken, she carried a bundle of something
held tightly under her arm.

CHAPTER II.

If this had been an ordinary woman, I should not have noticed her,
beyond the passing regard of the moment; it was the grace of her walk
that attracted my attention, and I felt sure that as she passed my by I
heard the sound of bitter passionate sobbing.

The old story over again, I thought--sorrow and pain, longing and love!
But for the sound of that sob as she passed me I should not have watched
her--I should not have known what afterward I would have given my life
not to know.

She walked right on to the very head of the pier, and stood there for a
few minutes