Jasper inclined his head for a moment in silence. Bear! Little did the old man know how much he, Jasper, had to bear. They sat talking for some little time, Jasper listening, as he talked, to the two voices outside--the clear, low, musical tones of Stella, the thin weak voice of the boy. Presently the voices ceased, and after a time he went out. Frank was sitting in the sunset light, his head on his hands. "Where is Stella?" asked Jasper, almost sharply. Frank looked up at him. "She has escaped," he said, sardonically. Jasper started. "What do you mean?" "She has gone on the cliffs for a stroll," said Frank, with a little smile at the alarm he had created and intended to create. Jasper turned upon him with a suppressed snarl. He was battling with suppressed excitement to-night. "What do you mean by escaped?" he demanded. The hollow sunken eyes glared up at him. "What did you think I meant?" he retorted. "You need not be frightened, she will come back," and he laughed bitterly. Jasper glanced at him again, and after a moment of hesitation turned and went into the house. Meanwhile Stella was climbing the steep ascent to the bit of table-land on the cliff. She felt suffocated and overwhelmed. "To-morrow! to-morrow!" seemed to ring in her ears. Was there no escape? As she looked down at the waves rolling in beneath her, and beating their crested heads against the rocks, she almost felt as if she could drop down to them and so find escape and rest. So strong was the feeling, the temptation, that she shrank back against the cliff, and sank down on dry and chalky turf, trembling and confused. Suddenly, as she thus sat, she heard a man's step coming up the cliff, and thinking it was Jasper, rose and pushed the hair from her face with an effort at self-command. But it was not Jasper, it was a straighter, more stalwart figure, and in a moment, as he stood to look at the sea, she knew him. It was Leycester, and with a low, inarticulate cry, she shrank back against the cliff and watched him. He stood for a while motionless, leaning on his stick, his back turned from her, then he took up a pebble and dropped it down into the depths beneath, sighed, and to her intense relief, went down again. But though he had not spoken, the sight of him, his dearly-loved presence so near her, shook her to her center. White and breathless she leaned against the hard rock, her eyes strained to catch the last glimpse of him; then she sank on to the ground and hiding her face in her hands burst into tears. They were the first tears that she had shed since that awful day, and every drop seemed of molten fire that scorched her heart as it flowed from it. If ever she had persuaded herself that the time might come when she would cease to love him, she knew, now that she had seen him again, that she could not so hope again. Never while life was left to her should she cease to love him. And to-morrow, to-morrow.