He muttered a return, and stood watching her as she walked quietly
away.

When it was nearly midnight, Ida lay on her bed, dressed, as she had
lain since her return home. For more than an hour she had cried and
sobbed in blank misery, cried as never since the bitter days long ago,
just after her mother's death. Then, the fit over, something like a
reaction of calm followed, and as she lay perfectly still in the
darkness, her regular breathing would have led one to believe her
asleep. But she was only thinking, and in deed very far from sleep The
long day in the open air had so affected her eyes that, as she looked up
at the ceiling, it seemed to her to be a blue space, with light clouds
constantly flitting across it. Presently this impression became painful,
and a growing restlessness made her rise. The heat of the room was
stifling, for just above was the roof, upon which all day the sun had
poured its rays. She threw open the window, and drank in the air. The
night was magnificent, flooded with warm moonlight, and fragrant with
sea breathings. Ida felt an irresistible desire to leave the house and
go down to the shore, which she could not see from her window; the tide,
she remembered, would just now be full, and to walk by it in the
solitude of midnight would bring her that peace and strength of soul she
so much needed. She put on her hat and cloak, and went downstairs. The
front door was only latched, and, as she had her key, no doubt she would
be able to let herself in at any hour.

The streets were all but deserted, and, when she came to the beach,
no soul was anywhere visible. She walked towards the place where she
had spent the afternoon with Waymark, then onwards still further to
the east, till there was but a narrow space between the water and
the cliffs. Breakers there were none, not more ripple at the clear