The church clock strikes eight, and a bell rings stridently somewhere in the depths of the town. There is a distant rumble, a roar, a flash of light, and a train glides into the station. But the sea pays no heed, and, round the bend of the creek, the sand gleams white beneath the moon, and the mist rises from the heart of the waves. CHAPTER II IN WHICH OUR HERO AND THE PLACE MEET ONCE AGAIN The Maradicks had reserved four seats by the 10.45, and so really there was no reason for arriving at Paddington a few minutes after ten. But, as it happened, it was quite fortunate, because there were so many people travelling that the porters seemed to have little scruple as to whether you’d reserved something or not, and just went about pulling pink labels off and sticking pink labels on in a way that was really grossly immoral. But Mrs. Maradick, having discovered that her own pink ticket was all right—“James Maradick, Esq.: Four seats by the 10.45. Travelling to Treliss”—could afford to be complacent about other people, and even a little triumphant over the quite amusing misfortunes of a party of six who seemed to have no chance whatever of securing a seat. Mrs. Maradick always shut her mouth very tight indeed when going off for a holiday. She entered the station with the air of one who had a very sharp battle to fight and wasn’t going to be beaten under any circumstances. She selected a porter with the confidence of a very old general who could tell a man at a glance, and she marshalled him up and down the platform with a completeness and a magnificent strategy that left him at last breathless and confused, with scarcely energy enough to show indignation at the threepence with which she rewarded his services. But to-day things were finished sooner than usual, and by half-past ten, with a quarter of an hour to spare, she was able to pay attention to her friends. Quite a number of them had come to see her off—Mrs. Martin Fraser, Louie Denis, Mrs. Mackintosh, Maggie Crowder, and those silly girls, the Dorringtons; and actually Tom Craddock—very short, very fat, very breathless—a little bit of a bounder, perhaps, but a man who served her husband with a quite pathetic devotion. Yes, of course, _he’d_ come to say good-bye to James, so he didn’t count in quite the same way, but still it was nice of him. “Oh! the papers! James, I _must_ have papers! Oh! thank you, Mr. Craddock. What? Oh, I think, perhaps, the _Lady’s Pictorial_ and the _Queen_—and oh! if you wouldn’t mind, the _Daily Mail_ and the _Mirror_, and—oh! James has the _Mail_, so perhaps the _Express_ would be better—and yes, just something for the girls—what do you say, Annie dear? The _Girl’s Realm_? Yes, please, the _Girl’s Realm_, Mr. Craddock, and the _Girl’s Own Paper_ for Isabel. Rather a lot, isn’t it, Louie, but it’s _such_ a long journey—hours and hours—and the girls get so restless.”