"There are times, Miss Widdrington," said he "when no word at all is the kindest." "But what have I done?" she cried. "Nothing at all but what is good and right. You may think whatever you like of me. Good-bye!" He grasped his Gladstone bag, and through the window she saw him give it to the fisher-lad who was to carry it three miles to the nearest wayside station. He disappeared through the gate, and so out of her life. Fat, slatternly Jeanne came upon her a few moments later moaning her heart out, and administered comfort. It is very hard for Mademoiselle--but what could Mademoiselle expect? Monsieur Everest could not stay any longer in the house. Naturally. Of course, Monsieur was a little touched in the brain, with his eternal calculations--he was not responsible for his actions. Still, Monsieur Everest did not like Monsieur to take money out of his room. But, Great God of Pity! did not Mademoiselle know that was the reason of Monsieur Everest going away? "It was father who had stolen the Spanish louis," cried Pauline in a passion of tears, as we leaned once more against the parapet of the jetty. "He also stole a fifty-franc note. Then he was caught red-handed by Mr. Everest rifling his despatch-box. Jeanne overheard them talking. It is horrible, horrible! How he must despise me! I feel wrapped in flames when I think of it--and I love him so--and I haven't slept for a week--and my heart is broken." I could do little to soothe this paroxysm, save let it spend itself against my great-coat, while I again put my arm around her. The grey tide was leaping in and the fine spray dashed in my face. The early twilight began to settle over Ravetot, which appeared more desolate than ever. "Never mind, my dear," said I, "you are young, and as your soul is sweet and clean you will get over this." "Never," she moaned. "You will leave Ravetot-sur-Mer and all its associations, and the brightness of life will drive all the shadows away." "No. It is impossible. My heart is broken and I only want to stay here at the end of the jetty until I die." "I shall die, anyhow," I remarked with a shiver, "if I stay here much longer, and I don't want to. Let us go home." She assented. We walked away from the sea and struck the gloomy inland road. Then I said, somewhat meaningly: "Haven't you the curiosity to enquire why I left my comfortable house in London to come to this God-forsaken hole?" "Why did you, Doctor, dear?" she asked listlessly. "To inform you that your cross old aunt Caroline is dead, that she has left you three thousand pounds a year under my trusteeship till you are five-and-twenty, and that I am going to carry off the rich and beautiful Miss Pauline Widdrington to England to-morrow." She stood stock-still looking at me open-mouthed. "Is it true?" she gasped. "Of course," said I.