"I was mad that night, and but for Mr. Webster--" she sometimes thought, and would shudder as she did so. "I wonder he has never been down to see us?" at last one day said Sister Margaret, at the very moment when May was vaguely thinking of the past. The two were sitting together on the pier, in a bright, fresh day in the early winter time, when Sister Margaret made this remark. All around them was the deep blue sea, white-crested and sparkling in the sun. Visitors were strolling about, and the whole scene was cheerful and invigorating. May roused herself from her sad day-dreams to answer Sister Margaret. "You mean Mr. Webster?" she said. "I dare say he is too busy to come." She looked up as she spoke, looked across the pier, and with a little start the next moment she recognized Ralph Webster. He was leaning back against the railing watching the two women he had come to see, and when his eyes met May's he raised his hat and crossed over to speak to them. "Good gracious, Mr. Webster!" cried Sister Margaret, when she saw him. "What a start you gave us! we were just speaking of you." "Were you?" he answered, and he shook hands with them both, and then sat down by May's side. "May I sit beside you?" he said, as he did so. "I have been wondering," he went on the next moment, smiling, "how long I should stand opposite to you without your seeing me? Do you know I've been quite five minutes over there?" "Really!" said May. She felt nervous and agitated. Seeing him again so suddenly had brought the past more vividly before her. "But I have not been wasting my time," continued Webster, still smiling; "I have been seeing, and with great and sincere pleasure, how much you are improved. The sea air has made a wonderful difference in you." "Yes; doesn't she look well?" said Sister Margaret, proudly. "Indeed she does. This is a charming day," went on Webster, looking up at the blue sky, and then down at the blue sea. "It seems like a rest to sit here; a rest from the worries of the world." "And have you been very busy?" asked May, half-shyly. "I always work fairly hard, you know," answered Webster. May did not speak again for a few minutes. She was thinking of what she had often thought--how she had been first interested in Webster's work in the case concerning Kathleen Weir's diamonds. She was wondering if he ever saw her now--the woman he knew to be John Temple's wife. And Webster, watching her delicate profile, almost guessed what was passing in her mind. But he tried to change the current of her thoughts. He pointed out a white-sailed little vessel scudding before the wind; he talked of the sea and of the sky, and May listened, and for the time her troubles faded from her mind. Suddenly, however, Sister Margaret seemed uneasy, and began to fidget with her silver watch, twice unhooking it from her waistband. She looked at May, but May did not notice her. At last she said, in a slightly marked tone: