She got up, and, without looking to right or left, hurried out of the coach. It had stopped raining, but she raised her umbrella and went on. Marrion walked behind her until there was no one near, then he stepped up: “I must speak to you,” he said. She turned upon him an unmerciful stare. “How dare you, sir?” “Forgive me, but I must understand it all,” he exclaimed, excitedly. “But what right have you, Mr. Latham, to shadow me, or question?” “To save Robert Milburn’s home--that’s what. I should think you, who owe so much to his friendship, would not dare to do this.” He caught her by the hand: “Come with me where we can talk it over alone, or you will never regret it but once, and that once will be always.” She consented reluctantly, and they walked off together. So complicated are the webs of fate, that this step, though hastily taken, gained a secret of the most vital moment to him and to Robert Milburn. CHAPTER XXXI. GONE. It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped at dawning, and now the rising sun tinted the cruel fringe of storm wrack as it dwindled into the west. A low, gray sky, eaten to a jagged edge as by a fire torch, hung over the harbor. Eastward, this sky line was broken by the spout of foam when two waves dashed each other into spray. A heavy surf beat upon the shore. Marrion Latham stood watching the small boats swoop up and down the emerald valley, dipping away nor’ward under easy sail. He loved the water, and when anything annoyed him, he had often found relief in its lullaby. This was one time its surging sighs had not soothed him. He must see Robert, for his home was in peril. He turned from the water front. Slowly and deliberately he walked, every step was an effort. He could not forget that this man, for whom he felt so much concern, had refused to take his hand, had refused him a chance for personal justification. All this he thought of, and while love and wounded pride were both struggling for mastery, he reached the door where he had once been a welcomed and an honored guest. “Is Mr. Milburn in?” he asked of the maid who answered the bell. “No, sir, he left this morning for Boston; will you leave a message.” “Oh! no. I shall wire him, if you will give me his address.” He tried so hard to speak lightly, but lamentably failed in the attempt. Without being conscious of it he had spoken in almost an imploring tone. So Robert was out of his reach; what should Marrion do now? He could not think; he had gone through so much excitement lately that his brain felt in a confused tangle, he was unable to calculate coolly; one thing he knew, that his mental agony was beyond endurance. In thought, word, and deed, he had been true to Robert, but that the other might never know until the history of man is carried from time to eternity, where none can erase or alter it. “Who was the gentleman?” Mrs. Milburn asked, when the servant returned.