ind of thing before I should know it now. You haven't said
anything about wages."

"I'll leave that to you," I said confusedly, and then went back to the
town.

I shall not dwell on my experience that evening, nor, indeed, shall I
speak of many of my adventures, as I want to relate only those facts of
my history which are vitally concerned with the name I bear, with its
associations and legends.

The next afternoon we sailed past my old home. Long before we drew
near it, I saw the grey tower on the great weather-beaten cliff, and
with beating heart I stood on the deck and watched while we drew nearer
and nearer. I strained my eyes to catch sight of any of my family, but
no one could be seen. Closer and closer we came, the great prongs of
the "Devil's Tooth" standing out more clearly as we swept on.

Did anyone there think of me? I wondered. Yes, they would naturally do
that. My mother would think of me, and be glad I was gone, for her
favourite boy would be master. Wilfred would think of me, and wonder
if I should come back, and, perhaps, dread the thought of such a thing
happening. My sisters would think of me lovingly, and wonder what had
become of Roger. And Ruth--I dared not think of her.

Who had seen my letter? I wondered. My mother was the most likely one
to do so, or Wilfred, and they would treasure up the words I had
written, they would weigh well their purport. But would it be shown to
Ruth or to my sisters?

My dear, dear old home, how I loved it! It was there I was born, it
was there my father had died. So near was I to it, and yet so far.
Besides, it was mine no longer. I had given it up to make the woman I
loved happy, and to keep it from being hell to me.

My thoughts were rudely checked. Two persons stood together on the
headland, the headland on which my home stood, and they were evidently
looking at the ship in which I was sailing. Who were they? I strained
my eyes to see. They looked like Wilfred and---- I dared not think of
it, the thought was maddening. I would not believe that Ruth was out
walking with Wilfred so soon after my departure, and on the very day
when she was reported to be leaving for her home.

Yet why not? By this time they had, perhaps, publicly announced
themselves as lovers; and yet they dare not. My departure could not
yet be regarded as a settled thing, and my mother had told me that Ruth
would be true to her father's wish. As yet I must be regarde