"Brice! Brice!" she shouted, in the security of having the whole cottage to herself. She got no answer, and ran up to their room, overhead. He was not there, either, and now it seemed but too probable that he had profited by her absence to go out for a walk alone, after his writing, and fallen from the rocks, and been killed--he was so absent-minded. She offered a vow to Heaven that if he were restored to her she would never leave him again, even for a half-day, as long as either of them lived. In reward for this she saw him coming from the direction of the beach, where nothing worse could have befallen him than a chill from the water, if the wind was off shore and he had been taking a bath. She had not put off her hat yet, and she went out to meet him; she could not kiss him at once, if she went to meet him, but she could wait till she got back to the cottage, and then kiss him. It would be a trial to wait, but it would be a trial to wait for him to come in, and he might stroll off somewhere else, unless she went to him. As they approached each other she studied his face for some sign of satisfaction with his morning's work. It lighted up at sight of her, but there remained an inner dark in it to her eye. "What is the matter?" she asked, as she put her hand through his arm, and hung forward upon it so that she could look up into his face. "How did you get on with the love-business?" "Oh, I think I've got that all right," he answered, with a certain reservation. "I've merely blocked it out, of course." "So that you can show it to Godolphin?" "I guess so." "I see that you're not sure of it. We must go over it before he comes. He hasn't been here yet?" "Not yet." "Why are you so quiet, Brice? Is anything the matter? You look tired." "I'm not particularly tired." "Then you are worried. What is it?" "Oh, you would have to know, sooner or later." He took a letter from his pocket and gave it to her. "It came just after I had finished my morning's work." She pulled it out of the envelope and read: "MANCHESTER-BY-THE-SEA, Friday. "DEAR SIR: I beg leave to relinquish any claim that you may feel I have established to the play you have in hand. As it now stands, I do not see my part in it, and I can imagine why you should be reluctant to make further changes in it, in order to meet my requirements. "If I can be of any service to you in placing the piece, I shall be glad to have you make use of me. "Yours truly, "LAUNCELOT GODOLPHIN." "You blame _me_!" she said, after a blinding moment, in which the letter darkened before her eyes, and she tottered in her walk. She gave it back to him as she spoke. "What a passion you have for blaming!" he answered, coldly. "If I fixed the blame on you it wouldn't help."