“Hark!” interposed Buckstone. “Some one is coming. It is that fiery Ross Kingman.” “So much the better. Why not see him now, and tell him what you mean to do?” whispered the stranger. “He is as savage as an untamed tiger.” “You are afraid of him?” “No.” “Then see him; it would help the matter along.” “He is ugly.” “Never mind, if you are afraid of him.” “I’m not afraid of him. To prove that I am not, I will see him,” replied Buckstone, who could not bear the imputation of cowardice. “Very well; I will go down upon the beach, for I am afraid the boat will float off.” Ross Kingman, roused to the highest pitch of excitement and anger, was approaching the spot where Buckstone stood. There was but one purpose in his mind, and that was vengeance upon the man who had wronged his sister. He knew nothing of prudence; he had no regard for consequences. “Is that you, Ross,” said Buckstone. “Villain!” cried the enraged brother, as he rushed forward upon the artist. [Illustration: WHAT BECAME OF THE ARTIST.--Page 133.] Buckstone had discretion enough to run away, and he retreated before his relentless enemy until he came to a high bluff, beneath which the sea beat against the rocks. “Stop a minute, Ross; I am going to make it all right to-morrow,” gasped Buckstone, out of breath with running, as he found that his pursuer was rapidly gaining upon him. “I shall make it right to-night,” shouted Ross, as he sprang upon the hated enemy. “I am going to marry her to-morrow, Ross,” pleaded Buckstone, as the gripe of the infuriate brother was fastened upon him. Ross had a club in his hand, with which he struck Buckstone a heavy blow on the head. The artist did not speak again; he sank down upon the ground, stunned, if not killed, by the blow. Ross, unappeased by what he had done, and apparently unmoved by the sight of the prostrate form before him, seized the body with both hands, and, dragging it to the cliff, hurled it down into the rolling waters beneath. There was a heavy splash, and then nothing was heard but the monotonous roll of the waves, as they surged against the rocks. Ross gazed down the steep for a moment, as if to satisfy himself that his work was done. He panted like a chafed wild beast. He muttered something to himself, and then turned from the spot, walking towards the house. If Mary was a wife before, she was a widow now. If she was not a wife, most terribly had her wrongs been avenged.