“Ay, ay!--that may be!--but swimmin’ winnot allers save a woman what’s light weight an’ ain’t got the muscles of a man. There’s a force o’ water ’ere sometimes as ’ud sweep a cart an’ ’oss off like a bit o’ straw! Ay, ay!--she’s gone for sure! an’ mebbe her poor body’ll never come nigh--leastways not ’ere,--it might, lower down the coast.” Here Grace Laurie, who was with the other servants watching, began to cry bitterly. “Oh, Miss Diana!” she sobbed. “She was so good and kind! Oh, poor, dear Miss Diana!” The old sailor patted her gently on the shoulder. “Now don’t ye fret, don’t ye fret, my girl!” he said. “We’re all swept off our feet sooner or later, when the big tide cooms in!--some goes first an’ others last,--but ’tis all the same! Now you just pull yerself together an’ take the poor leddy’s clothes back ’ome--an’ I an’ my mates will watch all along shore, an’ if we hears anythin’ or finds anythin’----” Mr. May coughed noisily. “I am the father of the unfortunate lady,” he said stiffly. “I cannot yet believe or realise this--this awful business; but anything you can do will be suitably rewarded--of course----” “Thanky, sir, thanky! I makes no doubt on’t!--but I’ll not worrit ye with the hows an’ the whens in yer sorrer, for sorrer ye must ’ave, for all ye looks so dry. What we ’ears we’ll let ye know an’ what we finds too----” And he subsided into silence, watching Grace, who, with choked sobs and tears, took up Diana’s clothes as tenderly as if they were living objects. Some of the other servants wept too, out of sympathy, and Jonson, the butler, approached his master with solemn deference. “Will you take my harm, sir?” he said. Mr. May stared at him angrily,--then, remembering the circumstances, assumed a melancholy and resigned air. “No, Jonson, thank you!” he answered. “I will walk home alone.” Then, after a pause. “You and Grace had better see to Mrs. May,--prepare her a little--it will be a terrible blow to her----” He turned away, and as he went, the group of sight-seers went also, slowly dispersing and talking about the fatality in hushed voices, as though they were afraid the sea would hear. The old sailor remained behind, smoking and watching the waves. Presently he saw something on the surface of the water that attracted his attention, and he went to the edge of the breaking surf and waited till the object was cast at his feet. It was a woman’s white canvas bathing shoe. “Ay! ’Tother’ll mebbe come in presently,” he said. “Poor soul!--they’se washed off her feet,--she’s gone, for sure! I’ll keep this a bit--in case ’tother comes.” And shaking it free from the sand and dripping water, he put it in his jacket pocket, and resumed his smoky meditations.