Hazel, though not so quick as she was, caught her meaning at a word, and flew down the slope to the seashore. The tide was out. A long irregular track of footsteps indented the sand. He stopped a moment and looked at them. They pointed toward that cleft where the grave was. He followed them all across the sand. They entered the cleft, and did not return. Full of heavy foreboding he rushed into the cleft. Yes; his arms hanging on each side of the grave, and his cheek laid gently on it, there lay Tom Welch, with a loving smile on his dead face. Only a man; yet faithful as a dog. Hazel went back slowly, and crying. Of all men living, he could best appreciate fidelity and mourn its fate. But, as he drew near Helen, he dried his eyes; for it was his duty to comfort her. She had at first endeavored to follow him; but after a few steps her knees smote together, and she was fain to sit down on the grassy slope that overlooked the sea. The sun was setting huge and red over that vast and peaceful sea. She put her hands to her head, and, sick at heart, looked heavily at that glorious and peaceful sight. Hazel came up to her. She looked at his face, and that look was enough for her. She rocked herself gently to and fro. "Yes," said he, in a broken voice. "He was there--quite dead." He sat gently down by her side, and looked at that setting sun and illimitable ocean, and his heart felt deadly sad. "He is gone--and we are alone--on this island." The man said this in one sense only. But the woman heard it in more than one. ALONE! She glanced timidly round at him, and, without rising, edged a little away from him, and wept in silence. CHAPTER XXVI. AFTER a long silence, Hazel asked her in a low voice if she could be there in half an hour. She said yes, in the same tone, but without turning her head. On reaching the graves, she found that Hazel had spared her a sad sight; nothing remained but to perform the service. When it was over she went slowly away in deep distress on more accounts than one. In due course Hazel came to her bower, but she was not there. Then he lighted the fire, and prepared everything for supper; and he was so busy, and her foot so light, he did not hear her come. But by and by, lifting his head, he saw her looking wistfully at him, as if she would read his soul in his minutest actions. He started and brightened all over with pleasure at the sudden sight of her, and said eagerly, "Your supper is quite ready." "Thank you, sir," said she, sadly and coldly (she had noted that expression of joy), "I have no appetite; do not wait for me." And soon after strolled away again.