A slight splash--not of anything heavy--no other sound; no cry, no
word--a moment's pause in the running of the waves, then they went on
again as gayly as ever, washing the wooden pillars, and wreathing them
with fresh seaweed. The tall figure, with the head bent over the rail,
might have been a statue for all the life or stir there was within her.

Quite a quarter of an hour passed, and she did not stir. I began to
wonder if she were dead; her head was bent the whole time, watching the
waves as they ran hurrying past. Then the lady moon relented, and showed
her fair face again; a flood of silver fell over the sea--each wave
seemed to catch some of it, and break with a thousand ripples of
light--the white cliffs caught it--it fell on the old pier, and the tall
black figure stood out in bold relief against the moonlit sky.

I was almost startled when she turned round, and I saw her face quite
plainly. The same light that revealed her pretty little face and figure,
threw a deeper shade over me. She looked anxiously up and down, yet by a
singular fatality never looked at the corner of the wooden building
where I sat. I have often wondered since that I did not cry out when I
saw that face--so wonderfully beautiful, but so marble white, so sad, so
intent, so earnest, the beautiful eyes wild with pain, the beautiful
mouth quivering. I can see it now, and I shall see it until I die.

There was a low, broad brow, and golden-brown hair clustered on it--hair
that was like a crown; the face was oval-shaped, exquisitely beautiful,
with a short upper lip, a full, lovely under one, and a perfectly
modeled chin. But it was the face of a woman almost mad with despair.

"Oh, Heaven! if I dare--if I dare!" she cried. She flung up her hands
with the gesture of one who has no hope; she looked over at the sea,