As far as eye could see the great billows of the Atlantic,
silver-crested in the brilliant moonlight, came tumbling shoreward,
breaking at last against the inviolate cliffs with a dull, booming
noise like the sound of distant guns. Then came the suction of
retreat, as the beaten waves were hurled backwards from the fierce
headlands in a grey tumult of surging waters, while the big stones and
pebbles over which they swirled clashed and ground together, roaring
under the pull of the outgoing current--that "drag" of which any
Cornish seaman will warn a stranger in the grave tones of one who knows
its peril.

To right and left, at the foot of savage cliffs black against the
silver moonlight, Nan could see the long combers roll in and break into
a cloud of upflung spray, girdling the wild coast with a zone of misty,
moonlit spray that must surely have been fashioned in some dim world of
faery.

She sat very still, watching the eternal battle between sea and shore,
and the sheer splendour of it laid hold of her, so that for a little
while everything that troubled her was swept away. For the moment she
felt absolutely happy.

Always the vision, of anything overwhelmingly beautiful seemed to fill
her soul, drawing with it the memories of all that had been beautiful
in life. And watching this glory of moon and sea and shore, Nan felt
strangely comforted. Maryon Rooke had no part in it, nor Roger Trenby.
But her love for Peter and his for her seemed one and indivisible with
it. That, and music--the two most beautiful things which had entered
into her life.

. . . A bank of cloud, slowly spreading upward from the horizon,
suddenly clothed the moon in darkness, wiping out the whole landscape.
Only the ominous boom of the waves and the roar of the struggling beach
still beat against Nan's ears.

The vision had fled, and the grim realities of life closed round her
once again.

Late that evening she slipped into a loose wrapper--a very
characteristic little garment of lace and ribbons and clinging
silk--and marched down the corridor to Penelope's room. The latter was
diligently brushing her hair, but at Nan's abrupt entrance she laid
down the brush resignedly. She had small doubt as to the primary cause
of this late visit.

"Well?" she said, a faintly humorous twinkle gleaming in the depths of
her brown eyes, although there were tired shadows underneath them.
"Well?"

"Yes, you dear silly woman, of course you k