"Was it Mr. Nettleby who did it?" she inquired, in a low, hesitating whisper. "Mr. Nettleby!" repeated Harry Castlemaine in astonishment, breaking of his whistle to the bird. "What in the world makes you ask that Jane?" A faint colour passed over her thin face, and she paused before answering. "Mrs. Bent said she thought nobody in the place possessed a pistol except Superintendent Nettleby." He looked keenly at Jane: at her evident uneasiness. She was growing pale again; paler than before; with what looked like an unnatural pallor. Mr. Harry Castlemaine's brow knitted itself into lines, with the effort to make Jane out. "I don't like the chapel ruins: or the Friar's Keep," she went on, in the same low tone. "I wish nobody ever went near them. I wish you would not go!" "Wish I would not go!" he exclaimed. "What do you mean, Jane?" "It may be your turn next to be shot," she said with rising emotion, so much so that the words came out jerkingly. "I cannot tell what it is that you are driving at," he answered, regarding searchingly the evidently tired frame, the unmistakable agitation and anxiety of the thin, white face. "What have I to do with the chapel ruins? I don't go roaming about at night with a pistol to shoot sea-birds." "If you would but make a confidante of me!" she sighed. "What have I to confide? If you will tell me what it is, perhaps I may. I don't know." She glanced up at him, flushing again slightly. His countenance was unembarrassed, open, and kind in its expression; but the decisive lips were set firmly. Whether he knew what she meant, or whether he did not, it was evident that he would not meet her in the slightest degree. "Please do not be angry with me," faltered Jane. "When am I angry with you? Simply, though, I do not understand you this morning, Jane. I think you must have tired yourself too much." "I am tired," she replied; "and I shall be glad to get home to rest. My aunt, too, will be thinking it is time I was back." She moved her parcel of wool off the gate, and, after another word or two, they parted: Jane going down hill, Harry Castlemaine up. Before he was quite beyond view, he stood to look back at her, and saw she had turned to look after him. A bright smile illumined his handsome face, and he waved his hand to her gaily. Few, very few, were there, so attractive as Harry Castlemaine. Jane's lips parted with a farewell word, though he could not hear it, and her pretty dimples were all smiles as she went onwards. At the foot of the cliff she came upon little Bessy Gleeson in trouble. The child had fallen, goodness knew from what height, had cut both her knees, and was sobbing finely. Jane took the little thing up tenderly, kissed and soothed her, and then carried her up the cliff to the Gleesons' cottage. What with Bessy and what with the parcel, she could not breathe when she got there. Down she dropped on the stone by the door, her face whiter than ever.