They stood just outside the door, in the shade of the walls, and he wound his arms round her for a last embrace. _A last?_ "God bless you, Mary Anne!" he whispered; "the time will come, I trust, when we need not part." She stood looking after him, the outline of his retreating form being very distinct in the bright night. The stars were clear and the air was frosty. Mary Anne Thornycroft watched him pass through the gate, and then saw that instead of going straight on, he turned short off to the waste land skirting the side of the plateau. She wondered. It was the farthest way to the village, and moreover the private way of Mr. Thornycroft. Another moment and she saw him running up the plateau, having crossed the railings. "Why, what in the world!--he must be dreaming," she mentally concluded. "Perhaps he wants to take a farewell view of the sea. He would see enough of it between here and Jutpoint." However, Miss Thornycroft found it cold standing there, and went indoors, meeting Sinnett in the hall. "Sinnett, Mr. Hunter's portmanteau must go by the early omnibus. See that it is sent to the Mermaid in time." "Very well, miss," replied Sinnett. And it may be here mentioned that she obeyed the order by sending it that night. Very shortly after Robert Hunter had left the dining-room, Richard and Isaac Thornycroft also withdrew from it, one by one, and unperceived. That is, the guests and the justice were too agreeably engaged with their pipes and drink, their talk and laughter, to pay heed to it. One of the gentlemen from Jutpoint--a magistrate--was relating a story that convulsed the parson with laughter and sent the rest almost into fits. Altogether they were uncommonly jolly, and the lapse of one or two of the party counted for nothing. Mr. Kyne had nearly ceased to care whether his subordinate was on the watch, or off it. As it happened, he was _on_ it. With the promised visit of his superior before his eyes, Mr. Puffer had not dared to leave his post. He stood close to the bleak edge of the cold plateau, wishing himself anywhere else, and bemoaning the hard fate that had made him a coastguard-man. Unpleasant thoughts of ghosts, and such like visitants, intruded into his thoughts now and then: he entirely disbelieved Mr. Kyne's theory that there were smugglers; and the only cheering ray in his solitude, was the sight of the cheery lights in the Red Court Farm. Tomlett, the fishing-boat master, who had recovered his accident, suddenly hailed him. "Cold work, my man," said he, sauntering up the plateau. "It just is that!" was Mr. Puffer's surly answer. "But it's a bright night: never saw a brighter when there was no moon: so you run no danger of making a false step in the dark and pitching over. There's consolation in that." "Ugh!" grunted the shivering officer, as if the fact afforded little consolation to him.