“I warned him,” she whispered. “I saw it so plainly—death flying across the sands to strike him. Oh, Petit Père, why didn’t you heed me? Couldn’t you trust the loving heart of your little princess?” In that moment Everard Colton forgot his hopes. A great surge of pity and grief for the girl rose within him. It came to him that she had loved the better man, the man who lay dead on the sands, and as the first pang of that passed there was left in him only the sense of service. Throwing his coat across Haynes’ body, he bent over Helga. “My dear,” he said, “my dear.” That was all; but her woman’s swift intuition recognised the new feeling and responded to it. She groped for his hand and clung to it. “Don’t leave us!” she said pitifully. “I will wait here with you,” he answered. Slowly the tide rose toward the mournful little group on the sand. An investigating gull swooped down near to them, and the girl roused with a shudder from her reveries, thrusting out her hands as if to ward off the bird. “It was like that in my dream,” she said, looking up at Everard with tearless eyes. “Oh, why did I not compel him to heed my warning! He used to say the sea-spirits that brought me in from the storm had given me second sight. Why did he not trust in that?” “He loved you very dearly,” said Everard gently. “Ah, you do not know what he was to me!” cried the girl. “Everything that was noble, everything that was generous. From the time when I was a child—Oh, he _can’t_ be dead. Can’t you do something?” Everard choked. Before he could command himself for a reply, there was a rattle of stones down the face of the cliff. Necessity for action was a boon to his tortured sensibilities. Catching up the revolver from the spot where he had laid it, he walked toward the sound. A confused noise of voices caused him to drop the muzzle of his weapon, as Dick Colton, Professor Ravenden and his daughter came into view. “Too late, Dick,” said Everard. “Good God!” said Dick. “Not Haynes?” Everard nodded. “He was dead when we got here.” With a little, broken cry, Dolly Ravenden flew to Helga and threw her arms around the girl’s neck. Dick Colton drew the coat from the body, looked at the wound, and then followed the tracks to the spot where they disappeared in the soft rubble. Returning, he said to Dolly Ravenden: “Get Miss Helga away.” “She won’t come. I can’t persuade her to move,” said Dolly. Everard came and knelt beside the girl. “Helga,” he said, “Helga, dear, you must go back home. We will bring him as soon as we can. Will you go back with me now, dear?” “Yes,” said the girl. Bending over, she kissed Haynes’ forehead. She got to her feet, and Everard and Dolly Ravenden led her away. Dick leaned over the dead face and looked down upon it with a great sense of sorrow and wrath. So gazing, he recalled the reporter’s half-jesting charge that he should take up the trail, “if my turn comes next.”