“No, no, Eliot. You must go now,” she continued, taking him by the arm, and leading him to the door. “Good night, Mary,” said he, taking her by the hand. “You will see me to-morrow.” “Do not come here. If Ross should see you----” “I will come when he is away.” “I will meet you on the beach.” “When Ross leaves the island, hang your red shawl out this window, and I will go to the beach at once.” “I will. Now go as quick as you can.” He left her, and Mary threw herself into a chair, and wept till she was startled by the footstep of Ross in the entry. When her brother entered the room, with a light in his hand, he could not help perceiving by her agitated manner, and her tear-stained face, that something had occurred to disturb the calm in which he had left her a few hours before. He was her friend and confidant; and after he had promised not to be angry, she told him that Eliot Buckstone had been there. Ross sprang to his feet, and looked like a madman. He forgot his promise. He had not expected this, and his nature was not proof against the shock it gave him. But Mary, with her tears and her pleading, calmed him down a little, and then he wrung from her a portion of what had passed between herself and Buckstone. “Are you his wife, Mary? Did he say anything about that?” demanded Ross, struggling to keep down the stormy passions that labored in his breast for expression. “I am not his wife, Ross, but----” “Not his wife! He told you so again!” exclaimed he; and he rushed from the room without waiting to hear any more. “Ross! Ross!” she cried, following him. But Ross heeded her not. He burst from the house wild with rage. She went to the outside door, but he was gone; and overcome by her emotions and her fears, she sank fainting upon the floor. She was weak and exhausted, and this new demand upon her strength was more than she could endure. Mrs. Kingman heard her scream, and heard her fall. With the assistance of her oldest daughter, Mary was borne to her room; but it was long before she opened her eyes and remembered what had transpired,--so long that The Great Bell sounded with a note of horror before she knew that still she lived. Eliot Buckstone left the house. Though he had no strong fears of Ross Kingman, he did not care to meet him. He walked down the path to the landing-place for a short distance, and then turned off towards the beach, where he had been in the habit of meeting Mary in brighter days. He reached the shelving rocks, below which the sandy shore extended. “Well, Buckstone,” said a young man, seated on a rock there, “what did you make out?” On the beach below a boat was hauled partially out of the water, and it was evident that the stranger had come over from the main shore with Buckstone, and was waiting his return from the house. “Everything works well,” replied Buckstone. “Has Hungerford been here yet?” “No; of course not. He did not get home till five o’clock.”