savage-looking man, like Elms, but different, looking down on the poor soul. Ah, the creature has treacherously let go the stick. He's lost." So saying, the doting dame raised her hand to her brow as if in pain.
The song proceeded, and Mrs. Dowling continued—
"It is so strange! He is walking on the beach, up and down, alone—long-bearded and grey. He's looking out across the sea, like poor Larry from Hillside. He's shading his eyes. Now sitting down with elbows on his knees and face buried in his hands."
"Thank you," murmured the company, as Maud finished the song, that seemed to come from the depth of an aching heart.
"Thanks, Rachel, you may light the lamps," said Mrs. Courtenay to the maid who entered. Under their unwelcome glare the elder ladies appeared pale—the one who had heard and pondered the strange words of her friend, the other whose fancies had been set roving by touch of the dead man's cane.
