married her, and I should not have thought that possible. Make haste
home, John, my dear old friend; even my happy home is incomplete without
you. Come and share its brightness with me."

He wrote innumerable directions for my journey. The nearest railway
station to Dutton Manor was at Vale Royal, a pretty little town about
three miles from the house. If I would let him know by what train I
should reach Vale Royal, he would be at the station to meet me. And he
said--Heaven bless his dear, loving heart--that he was looking forward
to it with untold happiness.

"When I think of seeing Frances and you together," he said, "I feel like
a school-boy out for a holiday. I will count the hours, John, until you
come."

I had to go to London on business, and while there it was impossible to
resist the temptation of running on to Brighton. I loved the place so
well, and I had not seen it for so long. I wanted to stand once more on
the Chain Pier, and think of my lost heaven. How vividly it all came
back to me--that terrible tragedy, although more than three years had
passed since it happened. There was the corner where I had sat in the
thick, soft shadows; there was the railing against which she leaned when
she threw the little bundle in the water.

I remembered the fitful light, the wash of the waves round the pier, the
beautiful, desperate face, and the voice that had wailed: "If I dare!
oh, my God, if I dare!"

I went to see the little grave. The thick green grass which covered is
was studded with white daisies, the golden letters on the white cross