He turned back up the path without another word, entered his house, and shut the door. Jack walked slowly on. Presently he heard footsteps behind him, looked round, and saw Verena Fontaine. They had not met since the time of Pym's death, and Jack thought he had never seen such a change in any one. Her bright colour was gone, her cheeks were wasted--a kind of dumb despair sat in her once laughing blue eyes. All Jack's pity--and he had his share of it--went out to her. "I heard a little of what you said to papa at the garden-gate, Captain Tanerton--not much of it. I was in the arbour. _Why_ is it that you will not yet go to sea again? What is it you wait for?" "I am waiting until I can stand clear in the eyes of men," answered Jack, candid as usual, but somewhat agitated, as if the topic were a sore one. "No man with a suspicion attaching to him should presume to hold authority over other men." "I understand you," murmured Verena. "If you stood as free from suspicion with all the world as you are in my heart, and--and"--she paused from emotion--"and I think in my father's also, you would have no cause to hesitate." Jack took a questioning glance at her; at the sad, eager eyes that were lifted beseechingly to his. "It is kind of you to say so much," he answered. "It struck me at the time of the occurrence that you could not, did not, believe me guilty." Verena shivered. As if his steady gaze were too much for her, she turned her own aside towards the blue sky. "Good-bye," she said faintly, putting out her hand. "I only wanted to say this--to let you know that I believe in your innocence." "Thank you," said Jack, meeting her hand. "It is gratifying to hear that _you_ do me justice." He walked quietly away. She stood still to watch him. And of all the distressed, sad, _aching_ countenances ever seen in this world, few could have matched that of Miss Verena Fontaine. V. Spring sunshine, bright and warm to-day, lay on Timberdale. Herbert Tanerton, looking sick and ill, sat on a bench on the front lawn, holding an argument with his wife, shielded from outside gazers by the clump of laurel-trees. We used to say the Rector's illnesses were all fancy and temper; but it seemed to be rather more than that now. Worse tempered he was than ever; Jack's misfortunes and Jack's conduct annoyed him. During the past winter Jack had taken some employment at the Liverpool Docks, in connection with the Messrs. Freeman's ships. Goodness knew of what description it was, Herbert would say, turning up his nose.