As it chanced, Emma had gone to fetch a pheasant which she said had fallen in the edge of the plantation behind them. When she returned with the bird, it was impossible for her to accompany her father, even if she wished to do so, for he had already driven away. Henry congratulated her upon the skill with which she had marked down the cock, at the same time announcing his intention of reclaiming the half-crown from her father. Then, having given his guns to the loader, they started for the high road, accompanied by the two pupils of the neighbouring clergyman. A few hundred yards farther on these young gentlemen went upon their way rejoicing, bearing with them a leash of pheasants and a hare. “You must show me the road home, Miss Levinger,” said Henry, by way of making conversation, for they were now alone. “The shortest path is along the cliff, if you think that we can get over the fence,” she answered. The hedge did not prove unclimbable, and presently they were walking along the edge of the cliff. Below them foamed an angry sea, for the tide was high, driven shore-ward by the weight of the easterly gale, while to the west the sky was red with the last rays of a wintry sunset. For a while they walked in silence, which Emma broke, saying, “The sea is very beautiful to-night, is it not?” “It is always beautiful to me,” he answered. “I see that you have not got over leaving the Navy yet, Sir Henry.” “Well, Miss Levinger, to tell you the truth I haven’t had a very pleasant time since I came ashore. One way and another there have been nothing but sorrow and worries and disagreeables, till often and often I have wished myself off the coast of Newfoundland, with ice about and a cotton-wool fog, or anywhere else that is dangerous and unpleasant.” “I know that you have had plenty of trouble, Sir Henry,” she said in her gentle voice, “and your father’s death must have been a great blow to you. But perhaps your fog will lift, as I suppose that it does sometimes even on the coast of Newfoundland.” “I hope so; it is time that it did,” he answered absently, and then for a minute was silent. He felt that, if he meant to propose, now was his chance, but for the life of him he could not think how to begin. It was an agonising moment, and, though the evening had turned bitterly cold, he became aware that the perspiration was running down his forehead. “Miss Levinger,” he said suddenly, “I have something to ask you.” “To ask me, Sir Henry? What about?” “About about yourself. I wish to ask you if you will honour me by promising to become my wife?” Emma heard, and, stopping suddenly in her walk, looked round as though to find a refuge, but seeing none went on again.