breezes, of perfect June.

He was picturing her to himself as he sat there, just as he had pictured
her often--ah, often--in the old days.

From his place near the altar he watched her coming towards him up the
great, white-decked church. Her eyes were shining with unclouded
happiness. Behind her bridal veil he caught a glimpse of the exquisite
beauty that chained his heart. Straight towards him the vision moved,
and he--he braced himself to meet it.

A sharp pang of physical pain suddenly wrung his nerves, and in a moment
the vision had passed from his eyes. He groaned and once more covered
his face. Yes, it was her wedding-day. She was there before the altar in
all the splendour of her youth and her loveliness. But he was alone
with his suffering, his broken life, and the long, long, empty years
stretching away before him.

He awoke to the soft splashing of the summer tide, out beyond the
sand-dunes, and he heard again the clear, low whistle which before had
disturbed his dream.

He remained motionless, and a dim, detached wonder crossed his mind. He
had thought himself quite alone.

Again the whistle sounded. It seemed to come from immediately below him.
Slowly and painfully he raised himself.

The next instant an enormous Newfoundland dog rushed panting into his
retreat and proceeded to search every inch of the place with violent