They stood and looked at each other in silence for a moment; but what a silence!

It almost seemed to Nell as if it were not he himself who stood before her, but just a vision of her imagination, called up by the intensity of her thoughts of him. The color came and went in her face, leaving it, at last, pale and startled. And he, too, stood, as incapable of speech as any of the shy and bashful young fishermen on the quay; he, the man of the world, who had faced so many "situations" with women—women of the world armed with the weapons of experience, and the "higher culture." At that moment, intense as it was, the strength of the emotion which swept over him and mastered him, amazed him.

He knew, now that he was face to face with her, how he had missed this girl, how keen and intolerable had been his longing for her.

He remembered to hold out his hand. Had he done so yet? For the life of him, he could not have told. The sight of the sweet face had cast a spell over him, and he did not know whether he was standing or sitting.

As she put her small hand in his, Nell recovered something of her self-possession; but not all, for her heart was beating furiously, her bosom heaving, and she was in agony lest he should see the mist of dew which seemed to cover her eyes.

"I'm afraid I startled you," he said.

Nell smiled faintly, and drew her hand away—for he had held it half unconsciously.

"I think you did—a little," she admitted. "You see, I—we did not expect you. And"—she laughed the laugh he had heard in his dreams, though it had not always been so tremulous, so like the flutelike quaver of this laugh—"and even now I am not quite sure it is you."

"It is I—believe me," he said. "It is the same bad penny come back."

Then it flashed upon him he must give some reason for his return. Incredible as it may seem, he was not prepared with one. He had made up his mind to come; he would have gone through fire and water to get back to Shorne Mills, but he had quite forgotten that some excuse would be necessary.

But she did not seem to see the necessity.

"Are you quite well now?" she asked, just glancing up at him.

"Quite," he said; "perfectly well."

"And how did you come? I mean when—have you been staying near?"

"I came by this morning's train," he said, "and I walked over; my luggage follows by the carrier. I enjoyed the walk."

"You must be quite strong again," she said, with a quiet little gladness. "Mamma—and Dick—will be so glad to see you!"

"They haven't forgotten me?" he asked insanely.

She laughed again.

"They have talked of very little else but you, since you have been gone, and Dick is like a boy who has lost a schoolfellow."

She said it so frankly that Drake's heart sank.

"Well—I've thought—I've missed you—Dick," he said, stumbling over the sentence. "Shorne Mills is, as you said, not the kind of place one forgets in a hurry."

"Did I say that?" she asked. "I don't remember it."

"Ah! but I do," he said. "I remember——"

"Hadn't we better walk on?" she said. "You must be tired, and will be glad of some tea—or something."

He seemed to notice for the first time that they had been standing, and they walked on.

Her heart was still beating fast—beating with a new and strange happiness glowing through her. Only a few minutes ago she had felt so weary and wretched; the familiar scene, which she loved so dearly, had seemed flat and dreary and full of melancholy, and now—oh! how lovely it was! how good it was to look upon!

Why had everything changed so suddenly? Why was every pulse dancing to the subtle music with which the air seemed full?

The question came to her with a kind of dread and fear; and her eyes, which shone like stars, grew momentarily troubled and puzzled.

He scarcely dared look at her. The longing to touch her, to take her in his arms—that longing of passionate love which he had never felt before—rose imperiously in his heart; but something restrained him. She was so young, so innocent and girlish that a kind of awe fell upon him. When, as she walked beside him, the sleeve of her jacket came in contact with his arm, a thrill ran through him, and he caught his breath.

But he would hold himself in check; not at this moment, when she was startled by his sudden appearance, would he tell her. It was more than likely that he would frighten her, and that she would fly from him.

"And is there any news?" he asked.

She looked up as if she had come from a reverie.

"News! There is never any news at Shorne Mills!" she said, smiling brightly. "Nothing ever happens. Dick has shot some rabbits—and there was a good catch of mackerel yesterday, and—that's all."

Her eyes shone up at him, and he looked into their depths. "I wish I'd been here," he said. "But perhaps they'll have another big catch."

"Are you going to stay?"

The question sprang from her lips almost before she knew it, and she bit them a moment after the words were spoken; for it seemed to her that he must have noticed the eagerness, the anxiety in the query; but Drake only thought that she had asked with some surprise.

"A—a little while," he replied.

"Mamma and Dick will be very pleased," she said, in as matter-of-fact a tone as she could.

"I wired to Mrs. Brownie, asking her if she could put me up—old Brownie lets some rooms, he told me——"

Her face fell for a moment.

"You are not coming to us—to The Cottage?" she said cheerily.

"No; I couldn't trespass upon Mrs. Lorton's hospitality," he replied.

"I hope you will be comfortable——" She hesitated. "Mrs. Brownie's cottage is very small and——"

"Oh, I'm used to roughing it," he cut in; "and perhaps, when I find it too small, you will let me come up and see you——"

"In our palatial mansion—for a change."

She was bright again, and her eyes were sparkling. After all, though he would not be under the same roof, he would be near—would be in Shorne Mills.

"I think I'll go down to Mrs. Brownie's and see if it is all right, and then come up for a cup of tea, if I may," he said, as they neared The Cottage.

He opened the gate for her; she gave him a little nod, her sweet face radiant with the new-born happiness which suffused her whole being, and ran in.

"Mamma—guess who has come!" she exclaimed breathlessly, as she entered the sitting room where Mrs. Lorton was reclining on the sofa with the Fashion Gazette and a bottle of eau de Cologne beside her. "Dick, I will give you three guesses—with a box of cigarettes as a prize," as Dick sauntered in with the gun under his arm.

"My dear Eleanor, why this excitement?" asked Mrs. Lorton rebukingly. "Your face is flushed, and your hat is on one side——"

"You'll have to give up drinking in the daytime, Nell," remarked Dick. "No, mamma, the gun will not go off, because it is not loaded. I wish it would, because I'm stone-broke and haven't any more cartridges. If I had a sister worthy of the name, she would advance me a small sum out of her pocket money."

"Guess, guess!" broke in Nell impatiently.

Dick smiled contemptuously.

"Some conceited clown to lecture in the schoolroom?" he said. "We know you of old, my dear Nell. Is there to be any tea this afternoon?"

"Clown!" retorted Nell scornfully. "Really, I've a good mind not to tell you until he—he comes himself."

"He—who? I must ask you to restrain your excitement, Eleanor. My nerves are in a very sad condition to-day, and I cannot—I really cannot bear any mental strain."

"It's Mr. Drake Vernon," said Nell, more soberly.

Dick uttered the yell of a rejoicing red Indian; and Mrs. Lorton slid into an upright position with incredible rapidity.

"Mr. Vernon! Go on, you're joking, Nell!" cried Dick; "and yet you look pleased enough for it to be true! Mr. Vernon! Hurrah! Sorry, mamma, but my feelings, which usually are under perfect control——"

"Is my hair tidy, Eleanor? Take this eau de Cologne away. Where is he? Did you think to bring a tea cake for tea? No, of course not; you think of nothing, nothing! I sometimes wonder why you have not imitated some of the Wolfer tact and readiness."

"I met Mr. Vernon on the moor, away from the village. I will make some toast. He is coming up presently. He is going to stay at the Brownies'—this is my best hat. Do be careful!"

For Dick, in his joy, had fallen against her in the passage and nearly knocked her hat off; then he seized her by the arm, and, fixing her with a gaze of exaggerated keenness, demanded in melodramatic tones, but too low for Mrs. Lorton to hear:

"What means this sudden and strange return of the interesting stranger? Speak, girl! Attempt not to deceive; subterfuge will not avail ye! Say, what means this unexpected appearance? Ah! why that crimson blush which stains your nose——"

Nell broke from him—half ashamedly, for was she, indeed, blushing?—and ran to make the toast, and Dick went to the gate to watch for Drake.

Drake found the Brownies expecting him, and was shown the tiny sitting room and bedroom they had hastily prepared; and, his luggage having arrived, he had a wash and a change.

And as he dried himself on the lavender-scented towel, he invented an excuse for his return. He was filled with a strange gladness; the surge of the waves as they beat against the jetty sang a welcome to him; he could hear the fishermen calling to each other, as they cleaned their boats, or whistling as they sat on the jetty spreading their nets to dry; it was more like coming back to his birthplace, or some spot in which he had lived for years, than to the little seaside village which he had seen for the first time a few weeks ago.

As he went up slowly to The Cottage, every man, woman, and child he met touched his hat or curtsied and smiled a welcome to him, and Dick's "Hallo, Mr. Vernon! then it is you, and Nell wasn't spoofing us. How are you? Come in!" went straight to his heart.

He went in with his hand on the boy's shoulder, and was received by Mrs. Lorton with a mixture of stately dignity and simpering pleasure, which, however, no longer roused his irritation and impatience.

"I am quite sure you will not be comfortable at the Brownies', Mr. Vernon," she said; "and I need not say that we shall be glad if you are not. Your room awaits you whenever you feel inclined to return to it—Richard, tell Eleanor that we are ready for the tea. And how did you leave London, Mr. Vernon? I am aware that it is not the season; but there are always some good families remaining in town," et cetera.

Drake answered with as fair an imitation of interest as he could manage; then Nell came in, followed by Molly, with the tea. There was no longer any sign of a blush on the girl's face, but the gray eyes were still bright, and a smile—such a tender, joyous, sunny smile—lurked in ambush at the corners of her sweet lips. She did not look at him, and was quite busy with the teacups and saucers; but she listened to every word he said, as if every word were too precious to miss.

"I was obliged to come down—the horses, you know," he said, as if that fully explained his return; "and, to tell you the truth, my dear Mrs. Lorton, I was very glad of the excuse. London is particularly hateful just now; though, as you say, there are a good many people there still."

"Did you meet my cousin Wolfer?" asked Mrs. Lorton.

Drake expressed his regret at not having done so.

"I think you would like him," she said, with her head on one side, and with a long sigh. "It is years since I have seen him. When last we met——"

"'He wore a wreath of roses!'" murmured Dick, under his breath.

—"And no doubt he would find me much changed; one ages in these out-of-the-way places, where the stir and bustle of the great world never reaches one."

"Mamma dropping into poetry is too touching!" murmured Dick; then aloud: "Nell, my child, if you are going to have a fit you had better leave the room. This is the second time you have shot out your long legs and kicked me. You had better see Doctor Spence."

The boy's badinage, Nell's half-shy delight, filled Drake with joy; even Mrs. Lorton's folly only amused him. He leaned back and drank his tea and ate his toast—he knew that Nell had made it, and every morsel was sweet to him—with a feeling of happiness too deep for words. And yet there was anxiety mixed with his happiness. Was the delight only that which would arise in the heart of a young girl, a child, at the visit of a friend?

"Shall we go down and look at the boat?" he asked, after he had dutifully listened to some more of Mrs. Lorton's remarks on fashion and nobility.

"Right you are!" said Dick; "and if you will promise to behave yourself like a decent member of society, you shall come too, Nell. You won't mind my bringing my little sister, sir?"

Drake smiled, but the smile died away as they walked down to the jetty; he could have dispensed with the presence of Nell's little brother.

"We might go for a short sail, mightn't we?" he said, as they stood looking at the boat. "Pity you didn't bring your gun, Dick!"

"Oh, I can fetch it!" said Dick promptly. "I shan't be ten minutes."

Drake waved to Brownie to bring the Annie Laurie to the steps, and helped Nell into the boat; then ran up the sail, and pushed off.

"Aren't we going to wait for Dick?" said Nell innocently.

"Oh, we'll just cruise about till he comes," said Drake. "Let me take the tiller."

He steered the boat for the bay, and lit his pipe. It was just as if he had not left Shorne Mills; and, as he looked around at the multicolored cliffs, the sky dyed by the setting sun with vivid hues of crimson and yellow, and at Nell's lovely and happy face, he thought of the world in which he had moved last night; and its hollowness and falsity, its restless pursuit of pleasure, its selfish interests appalled him. He had resolved, or only half resolved, perhaps, last night, that he would "cut it"—leave it forever. Why shouldn't he? Why should he go back?

Even before he had met Nell, he had been utterly weary of the old life; and, even if he had still hankered after it, it was now not possible for him. It was very improbable that he would inherit the title and estates; he had quarreled with his uncle; he had learned the bitter truth, that the women of his set were incapable of a disinterested love. And he had desired to be loved for himself alone. Does not every man desire it?

Why should he not remain as "Drake Vernon," without title or fortune? If he won a woman's love, it would be for himself, not for the rank he could bestow——

"There is Dick!" said Nell.

Drake awoke from his reverie.

"Scarcely worth while going back for him, is it?" he said. "Besides, he'll want to shoot something—and these gulls look so happy and contented——"

"Why, you told him to get his gun!" she said, with surprise. "But it doesn't matter. He's going out in Willy's boat, I see. I suppose he thinks we shan't turn back for him. Isn't it lovely this evening?"

"Yes," he assented absently.

If—if Nell, now, for instance, were to—to promise to be his wife, he would be sure that it was for himself she cared! She did not know that he was anything other than just Mr. Drake Vernon. No carking doubts of the truth and purity of her love would ever embitter his happiness.

"Where are we going?" she asked, turning on her elbow as he steered for the cove where they had lunched the other day.

"I've a fancy to look into that cave," he said. "What a capital place it would be for a picnic! Shall we go ashore for a few minutes?"

He threw out the anchor, leaped to the shore, and pulled the boat in for her. She prepared to jump, as usual, but as she stood, her slight figure poised on the gunwale, he took her in his arms and lifted her out.

Her face went crimson for an instant, but she turned aside, and walked up the beach, and by the time he had overtaken her the crimson had gone; but the grip of his arms had set her tingling, and her heart was beating fast; and yet it was so foolish to—to mind; for had not Brownie and Willy, and half the fishermen of Shorne Mills, lifted her out of a boat when the sea was rough and the boat unsteady?

"Let us sit down," Drake said.

There was a big bowlder just within the cave, and Nell seated herself on it, and he slid down at her side.

"If Dick is angry, you will have to protect me," she said, breaking the silence which seemed to oppress her with a sense of dread.

"I will; especially as it was my fault," he said. "I didn't want Dick—for a wonder. I wanted to be—alone—with you again. I have wanted it every minute since I left you. Do you know why?"

She had grown pale; but she tried to smile, to meet the ardent gaze of his eyes; but she could not.

"Hadn't—hadn't we better be going back?" she faltered; "it is growing late."

But her voice was so low that she wondered whether she had spoken aloud.

"I want to tell you that I have missed you, how I have longed for you," he went on, not speaking with the fluency for which some of his men friends envied him, but brokenly, as if the words were all inadequate to express his meaning. "All the way up to London I thought of you—I could not help thinking of you. All the time I was there, whether I was alone or in the midst of a mob of people, I thought of you. I could see your face, hear your voice. I could not rest day or night. I felt that I must come back to you; that there would be no peace or contentment for me unless I could see you, hear you, be near you."

She sat, her hands clasped tightly, her eyes downcast and hidden by the long dark lashes. Every word he was faltering was making the strangest, sweetest music in her ears and in her heart. That he should miss her—want to come back to her!—oh, it could not—could not be true!

"Do you know why?" he went on, looking up at her with a touch of anxiety, of something like fear in his eyes, for her downcast face told him nothing; her pallor might only be a sign of fear. "It was because I—love you."

She trembled, and raised her eyes for one instant; but she could not meet his—not yet.

"I love you," he said, his voice deepening, so that it was almost hoarse. "I love you."

Just the three words, but how much they mean! Is it any wonder that the poet and the novelist are never weary of singing and writing them? and that the world will never be weary of hearing and reading them? How much hangs upon the three little words! Love: it is the magic word which transforms a life. It means a heaven too great for mortals to imagine, or a hell too deep to fathom. To Nell the words spoke of a mystery which she could not penetrate, but which filled her heart with a joy so great as almost to still it forever.

"Dearest, I have frightened you!" he said, as she sat so silent and so motionless. "Forgive me! It seems so sudden to you; but I—I have felt it for days past, have known it so long, it seems to me. I have been thinking, dwelling on it. Nell, do you—care for me? Can you love me?"

Her hands unclasped and went with a swift motion to her eyes, and covered them. His heart sank with a sudden dread. She was not only frightened; she did not care for him—or was it because she did not know? She was so young, so girlish, so innocent!

"Forgive me—forgive me!" he pleaded, and he ventured to touch her arm. "I have—startled you; you did not expect—it was unfair to bring you here. But I can't take it back. I love you with all my heart and soul. See, Nell—you will let me call you that? It's the name I love above all others—the name I think of you by. I—I won't harass you. You—you shall have time to think. I will go away for—for a few days—and you shall think over——No, no!" he broke off, springing to his feet and bending over her with a sudden passion which swept all before it. "I can't go. I can't leave you again, unless—unless I go forever. I must have your answer now—now! Speak to me, Nell. 'Yes' or 'No'?"

He drew her hands from her face as she rose, and her eyes were lifted and met his. Love's sweet surrender shone in them; and, with a cry of wonder and joy, he caught her to him.

"Nell, Nell!" was all that he could say. "Is it true? You—you love me, Nell?"

She hid her face on his breast, and her hands trembled on his shoulders.

"Yes—yes," she breathed, almost inaudibly. Then: "Do I?"