life that stirs at dark flit over the face of the sky or the shadows of the earth. She could not see the sea, the growth of the low woodland was too thick, but she could hear the surf breaking on the shore, and often when a steamer was passing, or a brig coasting, or a fishing barque standing in under the wind, she could hear the beat of paddles or the rattling of halyards or the voices of fishermen calling to each other.
The sea was near enough to give the sweet sense of its strong companionship, and if she climbed the sandstone only a little way and overlooked the darksome stretch of myrtle and oak scrub, she could, at any moonlit hour, see it sparkling underneath the stars, flowing away into the infinite space of the clouds and the night, phosphorescent, radiant, hushed—the black fantastic crags of Elba borne upon its waters like a barque.
So the end of the summer passed with her untroubled except by that sense of ingratitude towards her lost friend which lay like a stone on her heart. Whenever she knelt by the coffin she said at the close of her prayers always: 'Dear and good one, forgive me. I was blind!'
The need of companionship never
