romantic little
watering-place called Clifton, ten miles off. The hotel is already quite
free of city-people, and we shall be almost alone.

* * * * *

_September 28th._--We have been here two days. The little transaction in
the church went off smoothly. I am truly sorry for the Captain. We drove
directly over here, and reached the place at dusk. It was a raw, black
day. We have a couple of good rooms, close to the savage sea. I am
nevertheless afraid I have made a mistake. It would perhaps have been
wiser to go inland. These things are not immaterial: we make our own
heaven, but we scarcely make our own earth. I am writing at a little
table by the window, looking out on the rocks, the gathering dusk, and
the rising fog. My wife has wandered down to the rocky platform in front
of the house. I can see her from here, bareheaded, in that old crimson
shawl, talking to one of the landlord's little boys. She has just given
the little fellow a kiss, bless her heart! I remember her telling me
once that she was very fond of little boys; and, indeed, I have noticed
that they are seldom too dirty for her to take on her knee. I have been
reading over these pages for the first time in--I don't know when. They
are filled with _her_,--even more in thought than in word. I believe I
will show them to her, when she comes in, I will give her the book to
read, and sit by her, watching her face,--watching the great secret dawn
upon her.

* * * * *

_Later._--Somehow or other, I can write this quietly enough; but I
hardly think I shall ever, write any more. When Esther came in, I handed
her this book.

"I want you to read it," said I.

She turned very pale, and laid it on the table, shaking her head.

"I know it," she said.

"What do you know?"

"That you have a hundred thousand a year. But believe me, Mr. Locksley,
I am none the worse for the knowledge. You intimated in one place in
your book that I am born for wealth and splendor. I believe I am. You
pretend to hate your money; but you would not have had me without it. If
you really love me,--and I think you do,--you will not let this make any
difference. I am not such a fool as to attempt to talk here about my
sensations. But I remember what I said."

"What do you expect me to do?" I asked. "Shall I call you some horrible
name and cast you off?"

"I expect you to show the same courage that I am showing. I never sa