He grew more and more curious on the subject after his father's burial, in the quiet that comes to a house of mourning, and he suddenly resolved to return to Stonecliff and find out for himself. The little seaside town looked very gloomy in the downpour of a cold November rain, and the boom of the sea, lashed to fury in a storm, was disquieting to his nerves, but he sallied forth to the post office, and stood on the steps, watching to see Liane passing by on her way from work, as on the first day he had seen her lovely face. How freshly it all came back to him, that day but two months ago, when he had followed her to restore her truant veil, and first looked into the luring blue eyes that had thrilled his heart with passion. What a mighty passion for the shallow coquette had been born in his heart at that meeting--passion followed by pain! Ah, how he wished now that he had never met her, that he had let the blue veil blow away on the heedless wind! The little acts of kindness had brought him a harvest of pain. Even now, despite all, he was waiting and watching with painful yearning for another sight of her face. But the moments waned, and she came not. He saw the other work people of the town going home through the falling dusk. Four of Miss Bray's girls dropped in at the post office, flashing surprised glances at his handsome, familiar face, wondering at his return; then they went out again, and he thought that presently Liane and Dolly would be passing also. But he was disappointed, and presently he realized that it was useless waiting longer. "Dean must have married her and taken her off already, but it must have been a very quiet affair. I have seen nothing of his marriage in the papers," he thought with strange disquiet, as he came down the steps. A handsome carriage, with prancing gray horses, in a silver-mounted harness, with liveried footman, suddenly drew up at the curbstone, and a brilliant face flushed on him from the window. "Oh, Jesse, what a surprise! How do you do? Won't you look in our box and bring me out my mail?" cried Roma Clarke gushingly. There was nothing for it but obedience. Jesse came out to her with two letters and a paper, and as she took them, she threw open the carriage door, urging sweetly: "Come home with me, do, and see papa and mamma. They will be so glad to see you. Poor papa has been ill of a fever, and is just convalescing." He was in a reckless mood. He accepted the invitation and went home with her, but she did not find him a very congenial companion. He ignored her coquettish attempts to return to their old footing. "You hate me yet," she pouted. "Not at all. I am glad to be your friend, if you will permit me," he replied courteously. "Friend!" Roma cried, in an indescribable tone. He ignored the reproach, and said calmly: "Tell me all that has happened since I went back to Boston. Who are married and who are dead?"