She was finding out the truth of what Miss Panton had said in the kitchen of the cottage--that every time a human being really feels it does not matter, he or she has a bitter foretaste of death, which is what makes this of all emotions the most truly sad. Even when she reached Aunt Creddle's, whose words and exclamations fell about her ears like hail, she remained the same--delivering her message, then going on at once to take her place in the pay-box. Lillie had already heard the news and was rather shocked that she should wish to remain. "Anybody can see you've been crying. Now, don't you think about me, Carrie. I don't mind stopping a bit." "No, thanks, I'd rather be here. After all, it's my job. And they don't want me--there are plenty there without me," said Caroline. But Lillie urged her at least to go somewhere and have a nice hot cup of tea and a rest, even if she were not needed at the Cottage; then at last departed, rebuffed and slightly irritated. Caroline sat down on the chair; but she did not take up her knitting, though the rain now fell heavily, persistently, and fewer people than ever passed through the barrier. She remained there with her hands idle, her eyes fixed on the expanse of sea that stretched out before her, so full of buoyant life, the spray from the breakers blown back like smoke in the wind under the swiftly-moving grey clouds. After a while the handful of people who had been listening to the concert in the hall came out into the rain, shouting remarks to each other above the gale. "Windiest place in England! Very bracing, though--too bracing for my taste!" A little later members of the band scurrying back to their lodgings: then utter silence, but for the sound of the wind and sea. But just before Lillie was due back again the weather cleared a little--between majestic clouds sweeping along like galleons, appeared a stretch of pure blue sky. Perhaps it was some association of childhood, some impression she had gained, then, from a hymn speaking of death; but that bright blue sky made her suddenly think with an acute vividness of the woman who was dead. Where was Miss Ethel? What was she doing now? Caroline's eyes remained fixed on the blue, but her mind had gone searching into the unknown; she was really groping her way, for the first time, across the barriers that lie between this life and the life of the world to come. Her soul really was trying to follow the soul of one already on the other side. Thus, strangely, it was Miss Ethel--buffeted and overcome by change--who led Caroline to this first glimpse of the unchanging. But these things do not become a conscious part of experience until long afterwards; so Caroline went home to her tea without knowing what had happened--only thinking rather more regretfully and kindly than before about Miss Ethel. _Chapter XXI_ _St. Martin's Summer_