me with wide open eyes of wonder--they knew the secrets of the sea--the
faint stir of life in the beautiful anemones had lost its interest. I
could not smile at the King Crabs; the reading tables and the music had
no interest for me; outwardly I was walking through the magnificent
halls of the Aquarium--inwardly my heart was beating to the mournful
rhythms of the sea. The clock had not struck seven when I came out, and
there lying before me was the Chain Pier.

I went there as naturally as the needle goes to the magnet. The moon
shone with a fitful light--at times it was bright as day--flooded the
sea with silver and showed the chain and the arches of the pier as
plainly as the sun could have done--showed the running of the
waves--they were busy that evening and came in fast--spreading out in
great sheets of white foam, and when the moonlight did touch the foam it
was beautiful to see.

But my lady moon was coquettish--every now and then she hid her face
behind a drifting cloud, then the soft, thick gloom fell again, and the
pier lay like a huge shadow--the very place, I thought, in which a
tortured heart could grow calm; there was only the wind and the sea,
nothing more. I would go to the spot where we two should stand together
never more. I fancied, as I paid for admission at the gate, that the
face of the person who received it expressed some surprise. It must have
seemed a strange taste; but--ah, me!--there had bloomed for me for one
short hour the flowers of paradise.

The thick, soft gloom was deeper on the pier. I remember that, as I
walked down, I heard from the church clocks the hour of eight. All along
the coast there was a line of light; the town was brilliantly lighted,
and when I looked across the waters the West Pier was in all its