They were opposite the theatre, but the building was dark. His heart sank; he felt that the stars in their courses were fighting against him. "It isn't open," said Nina superfluously. "We must have come too soon," he urged. "Let's cross over, and see what time it begins." For a minute or two they peered at the glum frontage, puzzled, and then they descried--affixed by its flap to a large door--a small envelope. It was an official announcement. On the envelope was written, "No concert this evening." They turned away, and moved in reverie towards the sea, which shimmered within sight. On the long lamp-blurred stretch of asphalt no one moved. A mile of downcast lodging-houses, veiled in gloom, kept hopeless watch over a blank Parade; in their dim fan-lights the legend of "Apartments" looked the emblem of despair. To the right the black pier slumbered silently; to the left a lugubrious hotel, unpeopled and unlit, imparted to the view the last symbol of disaster. On a sudden, spasmodically--in the wide-spread desolation--the town band burst into the overture to "Zampa." It was the jocularity of hysteria at a funeral. Nina gave a gulp, and clutched his arm. "Conrad," she quavered, "let me go home to-morrow, or I shall cry!" He did not plead with her; he recognised that there was some justice in her plaint. He promised that she should go by an early train, and his kindness cheered her. She came down to breakfast with her hat on. She, too, had _Punch_ and a foot-warmer, and again he doubted if they were adequate to exculpate him. "Try to bear no malice," he begged on the platform. "You'll dine with us as soon as you come back, won't you?" she laughed. "Good-bye, old chap," exclaimed Ted. He had risen quite vivacious. "Mind you look me up when you're in town; let me know well ahead, and I'll manage a spare evening." "I expect I've left a lot of things behind," said Nina brightly, bending to the window; "you might tell the servants to send them on." "Yes, I'll tell them. Are you sure you don't want any more papers?" "We're a long time starting, aren't we?" said Ted. "You're just off," Conrad answered. It was less than a week since he had loitered on the other side, impatient for their arrival. He forced a smile, and stood bareheaded, and turned from the station with a sigh. "'Oh near ones, dear ones! you in whose right hands Our own rests calm; whose faithful hearts all day Wide open wait till back from distant lands Thought, the tired traveller, wends his homeward way! Helpmates and hearthmates, gladdeners of gone years'---- _Where are you?_" said Conrad. CHAPTER IV