A suspension bridge, ornamented with straight-tailed lions, took her over the weedy river, and having crossed some pieces of rough grass, she climbed the shingle bank. The heat rippled the blue air, and the sea, like an exhausted caged beast, licked the shingle. Sea-poppies bloomed under the wheels of a decaying bathing-machine, and Esther wondered. But the sea here was lonely as a prison, and, seeing the treeless coast with its chain of towns, her thoughts suddenly reverted to William. She wished he were with her, and for pleasant contemplation she thought of that happy evening when she saw him coming through the hunting gate, when, his arm about her, William had explained that if the horse won she would take seven shillings out of the sweepstakes. She knew now that William did not care about Sarah; and that he cared for her had given a sudden and unexpected meaning to her existence. She lay on the shingle, her day-dream becoming softer and more delicate as it rounded into summer sleep. And when the light awoke her she saw flights of white clouds--white up above, rose-coloured as they approached the west; and when she turned, a tall, melancholy woman. "Good evening, Mrs. Randal," said Esther, glad to find someone to speak to. "I've been asleep." "Good evening, Miss. You're from Woodview, I think?" "Yes, I'm the kitchen-maid. They've gone to the races; there was nothing to do, so I came down here." Mrs. Randal's lips moved as if she were going to say something. But she did not speak. Soon after she rose to her feet. "I think that it must be getting near tea-time; I must be going. You might come in and have a cup of tea with me, if you're not in a hurry back to Woodview." Esther was surprised at so much condescension, and in silence the two women crossed the meadows that lay between the shingle bank and the river. Trains were passing all the while, scattering, it seemed, in their noisy passage over the spider-legged bridge, the news from Goodwood. The news seemed to be borne along shore in the dust, and, as if troubled by prescience of the news, Mrs. Randal said, as she unlocked the cottage door---- "It is all over now. The people in those trains know well enough which has won." "Yes, I suppose they know, and somehow I feel as if I knew too. I feel as if Silver Braid had won." Mrs. Randal's home was gaunt as herself. Everything looked as if it had been scraped, and the spare furniture expressed a meagre, lonely life. She dropped a plate as she laid the table, and stood pathetically looking at the pieces. When Esther asked for a teaspoon she gave way utterly. "I haven't one to give you; I had forgotten that they were gone. I should have remembered and not asked you to tea." "It don't matter, Mrs. Randal; I can stir up my tea with anything--a knitting-needle will do very well--"