She hesitated to tell him what had taken place, but he pressed her fiercely, and at last he sat trembling with horror, and with great drops bedewing his brow as she told him of the finding of the body and what had followed.

It was only what he had planned and looked for, but the fruition seemed too horrible to bear, and at last a piteous groan escaped from his breast.

That night, after the old woman had gone, the food she had obtained from his old home remained untouched, and he lay there upon the sand listening to the sighing wind and the moaning and working of the waves, picturing the whole scene vividly--the finding of the body, the inquest, and the funeral.

"Yes," he groaned again and again, "I am dead. I pray G.o.d that I may escape now, forgotten and alone, to begin a new life."

He pressed his clasped hands to his rugged brow, and thought over his wasted opportunities, the rejected happiness of his past youth, and there were moments when he was ready to curse the weak old woman who had encouraged him in the chimerical notions of wealth and t.i.tle. But all that pa.s.sed off.

"I ought to have known better," he said bitterly. "Poor weak old piece of vanity! Poor Louise! My sweet, true sister! Father!" he groaned, "my indulgent, patient father! Poor old honest, manly Van Heldre!

Madelaine! my lost love!" And then, rising to his knees for the first time since his taking refuge in the cave, he bowed himself down in body and spirit in a genuine heartfelt prayer of repentance, and for the forgiveness of his sin.

One long, long communing in the gloom of that solemn place with his G.o.d.

The hours glided on, and he still prayed, not in mere words, but in thought, in deep agony of spirit, for help and guidance in the future, and that he might live, and years hence return to those who had loved him and loved his memory, another man.

The soft, pearly light of the dawn was stealing in through the narrow opening, and the faint querulous cry of the gull fell upon his ear, and seemed to arouse him to the knowledge that it was once more day--a day he spent in thinking out what he should do.

Time glided slowly on, and a hundred plans had been conceived and rejected. Poll Perrow came and went, never once complaining of the difficulties she experienced in supplying him and herself, and daily did her best to supply him with everything but money. That was beyond her.

And that was the real necessary now. He must have money to enable him to reach London, and then France. So long a time had elapsed, and there had been so terrible a finale to the episode, that he knew he might endeavour to escape unchallenged; and at last, after a long hesitancy and shrinking, and after feeling that there was only one to whom he could go and confide in, and who would furnish him with help, he finally made up his mind.

It was a long process, a constant fight of many hours of a spirit weakened by suffering, till it was swayed by every coward dread which arose. He tried to start a dozen times, but the heavier beat of a wave, the fall of a stone from the cliff, the splash made by a fish, was sufficient to send him shivering back; but at last he strung himself lip to the effort, feeling that if he delayed longer he would grow worse, and that night poor old Poll Perrow reached the hiding place after endless difficulties, to sit down broken-hearted and ready to sob wildly, as she felt that she must have been watched, and that in spite of all her care and secrecy her "poor boy" had been taken away.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN.

BROTHER--LOVER.

Trembling, her eyes dilated with horror, Louise Vine stood watching the dimly-seen pleading face for some moments before her lips could form words, and her reason tell her that it was rank folly and superst.i.tion to stand trembling there.

"Harry!" she whispered, "alone? yes."

"Hah!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and thrusting in his hands he climbed into the room.

Louise gazed wildly at the rough-looking figure in sea-stained old pea-jacket and damaged cap, hair unkempt, and a hollow look in eye and cheek that, joined with the ghastly colourless skin, was quite enough to foster the idea that this was one risen from the grave.

"Don't be scared," he said harshly, "I'm not dead after all."

"Harry! my darling brother."

That was all in words, but with a low, moaning cry Louise had thrown her soft arms about his neck and covered his damp cold face with her kisses, while the tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Then there is some one left to--My darling sis!"

He began in a half-cynical way, but the genuine embrace was contagious, and clasping her to his breast, he had to fight hard to keep back his own tears and sobs as he returned her kisses.

Then the fugitive's dread of the law and of discovery rea.s.serted itself, and pushing her back, he said quickly:--

"Where is father?"

"At Mr Van Heldre's. Let me--"

"Hush! answer my questions. Where is Aunt Marguerite?"

"Gone to bed, dear."

"And the servants?"

"In the kitchen. They will not come without I ring. But Harry-- brother--we thought you dead--we thought you dead."

"Hush! Louy, for heaven's sake! You'll ruin me," he whispered as she burst into a fit of uncontrollable sobbing, so violent at times that he grew alarmed.

"We thought you dead--we thought you dead."

It was all she could say as she clung to him, and looking wildly from door to window and back.

"Louy!" he whispered at last pa.s.sionately, "I must escape. Be quiet or you will be heard."

By a tremendous effort she mastered her emotion, and tightening her grasp upon him, she set her teeth hard, compressed her lips, and stood with contracted brow gazing in his eyes.

"Now!" he said, "can you listen?"

She nodded her head, and her wild eyes seemed so questioning, that he said quickly--

"I can't tell you much. You know I can swim well."

She nodded silently.

"Well, I rose after my dive and let the current carry me away till I swam ash.o.r.e three miles away, and I've been in hiding in one of the zorns."

"Oh, my brother?" she answered.

"Waiting till it was safe to come out."

"But Harry!" she paused; "we--my father--we all believed you dead. How could you be so--"

She stopped.

"Cruel?" he said firmly. "Wouldn't it have been more cruel to be dragged off to prison and disgrace you more?"

"But--"

"Hush! I tell you I have been in hiding. They think me dead?"

"Yes; they found you--"

"Hush, I tell you. I have no time to explain. Let them go on thinking me dead."