Mrs Barclay had bidden her walk as far as the pier, and in all obedience she had done as she was told, reaching the pier entrance; and then, attracted she knew not how or why by the darkness and silence, she turned on to the wooden edifice, and began to walk swiftly along the planked floor. It was very dark that night, only at the end there was a single light that shone brightly, and in her confused state this seemed to be the star of hope leading her on. She had not had the slightest intention of going there, but in a rapt dreamy way she walked on and on, the vacant place seeming strange. The last time she had stood on the pier it had been thronged with well-dressed promenaders, but that was months--it seemed years--ago, while endless horrors had taken place since then. How calm--and still it all was where she walked, while below among the piles the sea softly ebbed and flowed and throbbed, seeming full of whisperings and voices that were hushed lest she should hear the words they said. She walked on and still on, and it occurred to her once that it was along here that beautiful Cora Dean's ponies had dashed, taking her over the end into the sea, from which Richard Linnell, so brave and honest, had saved her. She had often heard how the crowd cheered him--Richard Linnell. Cora loved him and was jealous of her, and yet she had no cause to be, for the events of the terrible night--the night of the ghastly serenade--killed that for ever. Why did she think of all this now? She could not tell. It came. She felt that she was not answerable for her thoughts--hardly for herself, as she turned and looked back at the faint lights twinkling upon the Parade. It seemed as if she were saying good-bye to the town, where, in spite of the early struggles with poverty, there had been so much happiness, as in her young love dream she had felt that Richard Linnell cared for her. Yes; it was like saying good-bye to it with all its weary troubles and bitter cares. She walked on and on, right to the end, but the light did not shed its beams upon her now. It was no longer a star of hope. It sent its light far out to sea, but she was below it in the shade, and hope was forgotten as she leaned over the rail at the end, listening to the mysterious whisperings of the water in amongst the piles, and looking down into the transparent darkness all lit up with tiny lambent points which were ever going and coming. Now and then there would be a pale bluish-golden flash of light, and then quite a ribbon of dots and flashes, as some fish sped through the sea, but it only died out, leaving the soft transparency lit up with the faint dots and specks that were ever moving.