hearing now. It was a presence--an imaginary shape or essence from the
human multitude lying below: those who had gone down in vessels of
war, East Indiamen, barges, brigs, and ships of the Armada--select
people, common, and debased, whose interests and hopes had been as wide
asunder as the poles, but who had rolled each other to oneness on that
restless sea-bed. There could almost be felt the brush of their huge
composite ghost as it ran a shapeless figure over the isle, shrieking
for some good god who would disunite it again.

The twain wandered a long way that night amid these influences--so far
as to the old Hope Churchyard, which lay in a ravine formed by a
landslip ages ago. The church had slipped down with the rest of the
cliff, and had long been a ruin. It seemed to say that in this last
local stronghold of the Pagan divinities, where Pagan customs lingered
yet, Christianity had established itself precariously at best. In that
solemn spot Pierston kissed her.

The kiss was by no means on Avice's initiative this time. Her former
demonstrativeness seemed to have increased her present reserve.


* * *


That day was the beginning of a pleasant month passed mainly in each
other's society. He found that she could not only recite poetry at
intellectual gatherings, but play the piano fairly, and sing to her own
accompaniment.

He observed that every aim of those who had brought her up had been to