chains mingling with the pompous throb of the engine in the tug. She blew a sentimental wish to the unknown men on their way to sea, and she stood till she could no longer see any evidences of their passing.... Then she was arrested by another sound. Through the clammy silence of the night there advanced and retreated the unmistakable roll of the ocean breaking on a long beach. She hung her head over the balcony the better to hear.
She heard Bob’s steps along the hall. She rushed to his window and poked in her head.
“Bob,” she began excitedly, as he opened his door. “You didn’t tell me we could hear the sea.”
“Val! Good heavens, what are you doing? What? The sea? Yes, the coast is only four miles away.” He came up to the window. He was very tired.
“But, Bob, how wonderful! Do we always hear it?”
“Yes, when it is still. I say, Val, really, you must not go out on the balcony like that. The pub is closing, and the men come round this side of the house to the stables. They mustn’t see us here. You know, you must be a little discreet.”
“Oh hell, Bob. You are getting to be an old grandmother. Good-night.” She ran her hands viciously through his hair, patted his cheek more kindly, and with an absurdly furtive air crept back along the wall to her window.
The weary Bob was asleep in a quarter of an hour, but Valerie lay for some time listening to the surf beating like a pulse in the heart of the stifled town.
VIII
When she walked into the dining-room the next morning Bob had vanished and Father Ryan was drinking his sec-
