ttle."

I followed her, quite helplessly, to the base of the cliff. Some fallen
fragments of chalk offered us a seat. I vaguely heard the voluble
landlady's expressions of sympathy and regret; I mechanically took the
smelling-bottle which my husband's mother offered to me, after hearing
my name, as an act of kindness to a stranger.

If I had only had myself to think of, I believe I should have provoked
an explanation on the spot. But I had Eustace to think of. I was
entirely ignorant of the relations, hostile or friendly, which existed
between his mother and himself. What could I do?

In the meantime the old lady was still speaking to me with the most
considerate sympathy. She too was fatigued, she said. She had passed a
weary night at the bedside of a near relative staying at Ramsgate. Only
the day before she had received a telegram announcing that one of her
sisters was seriously ill. She was herself thank God, still active and
strong, and she had thought it her duty to start at once for Ramsgate.
Toward the morning the state of the patient had improved. "The doctor
assures me ma'am, that there is no immediate danger; and I thought it
might revive me, after my long night at the bedside, if I took a little
walk on the beach."

I heard the words--I understood what they meant--but I was still too
bewildered and too intimidated by my extraordinary position to be able
to continue the conversation. The landlady had a sensible suggestion to
make--the landlady was the next person who spoke.

"Here is a gentleman coming," she said to me, pointing in the direction
of Ramsgate. "You can never walk back. Shall we ask him to send a chaise
from Broadstairs to the gap in the cliff?"

The gentleman advanced a little nearer.

The landlady and I recognized him at the same moment. It was Eustace
coming to meet us, as we had arranged. The irrepressible landlady gave
the freest expression to her feelings. "Oh, Mrs. Woodville, ain't it
lucky? here is Mr. Woodville himself."

Once more I looked at my mother-in-law. Once more the name failed to
produce the slightest effect on her. Her sight was not so keen as ours;
she had not recognized her son yet. He had young eyes like us, and
he recognized his mother. For a moment he stopped like a man
thunderstruck. Then he came on--his ruddy face white with suppressed
emotion, his eyes fixed on his mother.

"You here!" he said to her.

"How do you do, Eustace?" she quietly rejoined. "Have