A game at billiards, a long chat in the smoke-room, ought to have distracted my mind from the little incident I had witnessed, but it did not. My bed-room faced the sea, and I drew up the blind so that I might look at it once more. The beautiful sea has many weird aspects, none stranger than when it lies heaving sullenly under the light of the moon. Fascinated, charmed, I stood to watch it. The moon had changed her mind; she meant to shine now; the clouds had all vanished; the sky was dark and blue; the stars were shining; but the wind had quickened, and the waves rolled in briskly, with white, silvery foam marking their progress. The Chain Pier stood out quite clear and distinct in the moonlight; very fair and shapely it looked. Then I went to sleep and dreamed of the white, beautiful, desperate face--of the woman who had, I believed, thrown her love-letters into the sea. The wind grew rougher and the sea grew angry during the night; when at times I woke from my sleep I could hear them. Ah! long before this the love-letters had been destroyed--had been torn by the swift waves; the faded flowers and all the pretty love-tokens were done to death in the brisk waters. I wondered if, in thought, that beautiful, desperate woman would go back to that spot on the Chain Pier. The morning following dawned bright and calm; there was a golden sunlight and a blue sea; why the color of the water should change so greatly, I could not think, but change it did. I have seen it clear as an emerald, and I have seen it blue as the lakes and seas of Italy. This morning it wore a blue dress, and a thousand, brilliants danced on its broad, sweet bosom. Already there were a number of people on the promenade; both piers looked beautiful, and were full of life and activity. It must have been some kind of holiday, although I forget for what the flags were flying, and there was a holiday look about the town. I thought I would walk for ten minutes before my breakfast. I went toward the Chain Pier, drawn by the irresistible attraction of the face I had seen there last evening. It struck me that there was an unusual number of people about the Chain Pier; quite a crowd had collected at the gate. People were talking to each other in an excited fashion. I saw one or two policemen, and I came to the conclusion that some accident or other had happened on the pier. I went up to the crowd--two or three boatmen stood leaning over the rail. "What is the matter?" I asked. "Matter, sir?" replied one; "there is matter enough. There must have been murder, or something very much like it, done on that pier last night." "Murder?" I cried, with a beating heart; "do not use such a horrible word." "It is a horrible thing, sir, but it has been done," replied the boatman. CHAPTER III.