The next day was as fine as the arrangement could possibly require. Asthe sun passed the meridian and declined westward, the tall shadows fromthe scaffold-poles of Barnet's rising residence streaked the ground asfar as to the middle of the highway. Barnet himself was there inspectingthe progress of the works for the first time during several weeks. Abuilding in an old-fashioned town five-and-thirty years ago did not, asin the modern fashion, rise from the sod like a booth at a fair. Thefoundations and lower courses were put in and allowed to settle for manyweeks before the superstructure was built up, and a whole summer ofdrying was hardly sufficient to do justice to the important issuesinvolved. Barnet stood within a window-niche which had as yet receivedno frame, and thence looked down a slope into the road. The wheels of achaise were heard, and then his handsome Xantippe, in the company of Mrs.Downe, drove past on their way to the shore. They were driving slowly;there was a pleasing light in Mrs. Downe's face, which seemed faintly toreflect itself upon the countenance of her companion--that politesse ducoeur which was so natural to her having possibly begun already to workresults. But whatever the situation, Barnet resolved not to interfere,or do anything to hazard the promise of the day. He might well afford totrust the issue to another when he could never direct it but to illhimself. His wife's clenched rein-hand in its lemon-coloured glove, herstiff erect figure, clad in velvet and lace, and her boldly-outlinedface, passed on, exhibiting their owner as one fixed for ever above thelevel of her companion--socially by her early breeding, and materially byher higher cushion.

Barnet decided to allow them a proper time to themselves, and then strolldown to the shore and drive them home. After lingering on at the housefor another hour he started with this intention. A few hundred yardsbelow 'Chateau Ringdale' stood the cottage in which the late lieutenant'sdaughter had her lodging. Barnet had not been so far that way for a longtime, and as he approached the forbidden ground a curious warmth passedinto him, which led him to perceive that, unless he were careful, hemight have to fight the battle with himself about Lucy over again. Atenth of his present excuse would, however, have justified him intravelling by that road to-day.

He came opposite the dwelling, and turned his eyes for a momentary glanceinto the little garden that stretched from the palings to the door. Lucywas in the enclosure; she was walking and stooping to gather someflowers, possibly for the purpose of painting them, for she moved aboutquickly, as if anxious to save time. She did not see him; he might havepassed unnoticed; but a sensation which was not in strict unison with hisprevious sentiments that day led him to pause in his walk and watch her.She went nimbly round and round the beds of anemones, tulips, jonquils,polyanthuses, and other old-fashioned flowers, looking a very charmingfigure in her half-mourning bonnet, and with an incomplete nosegay in herleft hand. Raising herself to pull down a lilac blossom she observedhim.

'Mr. Barnet!' she said, innocently smiling. 'Why, I have been thinkingof you many times since Mrs. Barnet went by in the pony-carriage, and nowhere you are!'

'Yes, Lucy,' he said.

Then she seemed to recall particulars of their last meeting, and hebelieved that she flushed, though it might have been only the fancy ofhis own supersensitivenesss.

'I am going to the harbour,' he added.

'Are you?' Lucy remarked simply. 'A great many people begin to go therenow the summer is drawing on.'

Her face had come more into his view as she spoke, and he noticed howmuch thinner and paler it was than when he had seen it last. 'Lucy, howweary you look! tell me, can I help you?' he was going to cry out.--'If Ido,' he thought, 'it will be the ruin of us both!' He merely said thatthe afternoon was fine, and went on his way.

As he went a sudden blast of air came over the hill as if incontradiction to his words, and spoilt the previous quiet of the scene.The wind had already shifted violently, and now smelt of the sea.

The harbour-road soon began to justify its name. A gap appeared in therampart of hills which shut out the sea, and on the left of the openingrose a vertical cliff, coloured a burning orange by the sunlight, thecompanion cliff on the right being livid in shade. Between these cliffs,like the Libyan bay which sheltered the shipwrecked Trojans, was a littlehaven, seemingly a beginning made by Nature herself of a perfect harbour,which appealed to the passer-by as only requiring a little human industryto finish it and make it famous, the ground on each side as far back asthe daisied slopes that bounded the interior valley being a mere layer ofblown sand. But the Port-Bredy burgesses a mile inland had, in thecourse of ten centuries, responded many times to that mute appeal, withthe result that the tides had invariably choked up their works with sandand shingle as soon as completed. There were but few houses here: arough pier, a few boats, some stores, an inn, a residence or two, a ketchunloading in the harbour, were the chief features of the settlement. Onthe open ground by the shore stood his wife's pony-carriage, empty, theboy in attendance holding the horse.

When Barnet drew nearer, he saw an indigo-coloured spot moving swiftlyalong beneath the radiant base of the eastern cliff, which proved to be aman in a jersey, running with all his might. He held up his hand toBarnet, as it seemed, and they approached each other. The man was local,but a stranger to him.

'What is it, my man?' said Barnet.

'A terrible calamity!' the boatman hastily explained. Two ladies hadbeen capsized in a boat--they were Mrs. Downe and Mrs. Barnet of the oldtown; they had driven down there that afternoon--they had alighted, andit was so fine, that, after walking about a little while, they had beentempted to go out for a short sail round the cliff. Just as they wereputting in to the shore, the wind shifted with a sudden gust, the boatlisted over, and it was thought they were both drowned. How it couldhave happened was beyond his mind to fathom, for John Green knew how tosail a boat as well as any man there.

'Which is the way to the place?' said Barnet.

It was just round the cliff.

'Run to the carriage and tell the boy to bring it to the place as soon asyou can. Then go to the Harbour Inn and tell them to ride to town for adoctor. Have they been got out of the water?'

'One lady has.'

'Which?'

'Mrs. Barnet. Mrs. Downe, it is feared, has fleeted out to sea.'

Barnet ran on to that part of the shore which the cliff had hithertoobscured from his view, and there discerned, a long way ahead, a group offishermen standing. As soon as he came up one or two recognized him,and, not liking to meet his eye, turned aside with misgiving. He wentamidst them and saw a small sailing-boat lying draggled at the water'sedge; and, on the sloping shingle beside it, a soaked and sandy woman'sform in the velvet dress and yellow gloves of his wife.