d by warm, swift, salty gusts, that bent the trees and
shook the flowers in half savage, half tender sportiveness, while the
sea, shaping itself by degrees into "wild horses" of blue water bridled
with foam, raced into the shore with ever-increasing hurry and fury. But
notwithstanding the strong wind, there was a bright sun, and a dazzling
blue sky, scattered over with flying masses of cloud, like flocks of
white birds soaring swiftly to some far-off region of rest. Everything
in nature looked radiant and beautiful,--health and joy were exhaled
from every breath of air--and yet in one place--one pretty
rose-embowered cottage, where, until now, the spirit of content had held
its happy habitation, a sudden gloom had fallen, and a dark cloud had
blotted out all the sunshine. Mary's little "home sweet home" had been
all at once deprived of sweetness,--and she sat within it like a
mournful castaway, clinging to the wreck of that which had so long been
her peace and safety. Tired out by her long night journey and lack of
sleep, she looked very white and weary and ill--and Angus Reay, sitting
opposite to her, looked scarcely less worn and weary than herself. He
had met her on her return from London at the Minehead station, with all
the ardour and eagerness of a lover and a boy,--and he had at once seen
in her face that something unexpected had happened,--something that had
deeply affected her--though she had told him nothing, till on their
arrival home at the cottage, she was able to be quite alone with him.
Then he learned all. Then he knew that "old David" had been no other
than David Helmsley the millionaire,--the very man whom his first love,
Lucy Sorrel, had schemed and hoped to marry. And he realised--and God
alone knew with what a passion of despair he realised it!--that
Mary--his bonnie Mary--his betrothed wife--had been chosen to inherit
those very millions which had formerly stood between him and what he had
then imagined to be his happiness. And listening to the strange story,
he had sunk deeper and deeper into the Slough of Despond, and now sat
rigidly silent, with all the light gone out of his features, and all the
ardour quenched in his eyes. Mary looking at him, and reading every
expression in that dark beloved face, felt the tears rising thickly in
her throat, but bravely suppressed them, and tried to smile.

"I knew you would be sorry when you heard all about it, Angus,"--she
said--"I felt sure you would! I wis