With September the lovely weather suddenly broke up, and a few days later there was a great storm along the eastern seaboard. One morning news came to Heron Dyke that during the night a brig of some three hundred tons burden, the _Seamew_, bound from Dantzic to London, had struck on the Creffel Bank, and lay there a helpless wreck. Two of the crew had been washed overboard; the rest, including the master, were rescued by the Easterby lifeboat. The Creffel Bank was known as one of the most dangerous spots on that part of the coast, and many a gallant craft had gone to pieces on its shifting and treacherous shoals.

Miss Winter at once sent Hubert Stone into the village with instructions to aid the shipwrecked men in whatever way might seem best. All of them, except the captain, expressed a desire to be forwarded to London, and were accordingly packed off by rail, their fares being paid by Hubert. As the brig did not at once break up, when the storm abated several boats went out to her, and in the course of a couple of days succeeded in landing that portion of her cargo which remained unspoiled, and most of her loose fittings; but the little _Seamew_ herself was so deeply imbedded in the sand that it was impossible to get her off, and the next gale would doubtless break her up entirely.

One sunny afternoon, Ella took her sketchbook to the sands, and was dutifully accompanied by Mrs. Toynbee with a novel. But Ella was not long in discovering that she was in no mood for sketching, that she was rather in a mood which inclined to day-dreaming, and to vague golden visions of some far-off future. Could it be that the recent visit of Edward Conroy had anything to do with these idle fancies?

At length she shut up her book with a little gesture of impatience, and strolled slowly down to the farther shore. Mrs. Toynbee sighed and followed meekly. Her seat had been a comfortable one, and she was in the middle of an interesting chapter; but duty is duty, however unpleasant it may be.

The tide was beginning to ebb, and, as the two ladies paced the sands a little above high-water mark, they presently saw a boat propelled by a single rower making for the shore. The rower was Hubert Stone, and the boat belonged to him. He was fond of the water, and often went out for hours at a time, alone or accompanied by some friend. Ella stood and watched the boat coming in. It seemed to be making for the spot where she stood. Hubert's strong and regular strokes propelled it swiftly through the water, and in a little while it shot gently up the sands. Putting down his oars, the young man stood up and raised his straw hat to Miss Winter. How handsome he looked as he stood there in the afternoon sunshine, with his coat thrown carelessly across his arm!

"Have you been far?" asked Ella, when he stepped ashore.

"Only as far as New Nullington and back," answered Hubert.

"It must be very pleasant on the water to-day."

"Very pleasant indeed. There is quite a refreshing breeze when you get a little way out. What do you say, Miss Ella, to letting me pull you and Mrs. Toynbee as far as the _Seamew_ and back?"

Miss Winter looked at Mrs. Toynbee.

"Oh, that would be very charming, I think," said the latter lady: and they did not observe that she spoke half ironically.

"Who is on board the brig?" asked Ella.

"George Petherton is there now," said Hubert. "If the weather holds up fine, they hope to be able to save some more of the cargo; meanwhile George remains there in charge."

"Then let us go. We shall get back in time for dinner."

She knew George Petherton well. He was one of the oldest and steadiest boatmen round Easterby.

Without more ado, Ella stepped lightly into the boat and sat down. Hubert held out his hand to Mrs. Toynbee. But, at the last moment, that lady's heart failed her; in fact her bravery had been but put on. Involuntarily she drew back a step or two.

"There is not the slightest cause for alarm, ma'am," said Hubert.

But the boat was a very small one, and looked dreadfully unsafe, she thought. Then the wreck was more than two miles away, and what was it that Mr. Stone had just said about there being a pleasant breeze when you got away from shore? How could any breeze be pleasant at sea?

"I--I don't feel very well, and I think, my dear, I must ask you to excuse me," she said to Ella, with a little quaver of the voice.

"You are not afraid, are you?" asked Ella, with a smile. "The breeze when we get out will do you good."

Mrs. Toynbee shuddered.

"Really, my dear, I should feel pleased if you would excuse me," she said. "I am not at all myself this afternoon: and I am apt to be so very ill upon the water. Do excuse me--and I will wait for you here."

"Well, I should like to go," responded Ella. "I should like to see the wreck, and I shall not be long away. You can watch me skimming over the water."

"I will," assented Mrs. Toynbee, with an air of relief. "I wish you _bon voyage_, and a safe return."

Hubert waited for no more. He pushed the boat into deeper water, then got in and took up his oars. He wanted no Mrs. Toynbee in it, not he, and was glad matters had turned out so. That lady stood on the sands waving her handkerchief till they were quite a quarter of a mile away from shore, and then sat down to continue her novel.

But--it may as well be at once mentioned--the expedition took longer than Mrs. Toynbee had expected. She grew tired of waiting, felt rather chilly, for she had but a thin gauze shawl on, and she got up at length and went back to the Hall.

Hubert Stone rowed on with strong steady strokes, feeling like a man who cannot be sure whether he is dreaming or awake. Could it be true, he asked himself, that he and his sweet mistress were alone together--alone on the waste of waters where no living soul could come between them? Together, yes; but in reality as far as the poles asunder. Still, to be so near her, to have her as it were all to himself, though only for one short hour, was both a pleasure and a pain unspeakable. If they could but have gone on thus for ever, sailing away into infinity, and never touching land again, unless it were some desert island untrodden by any footsteps save their own! Wild, foolish longings! In an hour their little voyage would be at an end, and never again, in all human probability, would Ella and he be in a boat together; never alone, as they were to-day. He needed no prophet to tell him that. Never again!

By-and-by Ella roused herself from her reverie: for she too had fallen into one. They were nearing the wreck. It lay low on its sandy bed, slightly heeled over to starboard. There was little more of it left than the bare hull. Masts and bowsprit had been unshipped and carried away.

"How quiet and deserted it looks!" she exclaimed. "I don't see George Petherton."

"We shall have a splendid sunset," remarked Hubert, as he rested for a moment on his oars, and taking no notice of her words. "See there, Miss Winter!"

"Yes, many of those cloud-effects are very lovely!"

A few more minutes brought them close to the wreck. Ella was looking at it steadfastly.

"I do not see George Petherton," she again remarked.

"He is probably below deck, smoking his pipe, or trying to fish up some more of the cargo. George is not the sort of man to care for sunset-effects." Hubert said this with a short, hard laugh, which Ella, preoccupied, took little notice of. It was well perhaps that she did not see the expression of his face. It had changed strangely during the last few minutes. His mouth was hard-set, and in his eyes there sat a look which might have been set down as compounded of despair, burning passion, and desperate resolve.

Hubert shipped his oars, and made a trumpet of his hands to sing out. "Hillo there! Petherton--Petherton, I say, where are you?" But there came no answer; there was no sign of life whatever on board the wreck.

"Can he have gone ashore?" exclaimed Ella, quickly.

"Not likely," returned Hubert. "He is shut in below, smoking his pipe, and cannot hear: perhaps has dropped asleep. I will go and arouse him. But let me help you on board first, Miss Winter.--Hark! yes, George is there, safe enough. I hear him."

He brought the boat up under the lee of the wreck, made her fast with a rope, sprang lightly on the _Seamew's_ deck, and turned to assist Miss Winter.

But Ella held back. "Go and tell him to come and help you to get me up," she said laughingly.

Hubert disappeared down the cabin stairs. He did not come back immediately. Left alone in the boat, Ella began to feel anxious, vaguely uneasy. Could she but have divined his treachery! He knew perfectly well that George Petherton was not on board, that he had gone ashore at mid-day.

Hubert made his way aft into a little room, not much bigger than a rabbit-hutch, but which was in reality the captain's cabin. Here he found a keg of hollands, still about one-third full; near it was a horn drinking-cup. Twice in quick succession he filled the cup with neat spirits and drank it off. He was very pale, and there lay still that same strange lurid light in his eyes.

After drinking the spirits, he stood rigid as a statue, his hands clenched, his eyes fixed on the ground. "His or mine--his or mine?" he muttered under his breath. "Not his--not his! Death before that."

Once again he filled the cup and drank its contents. Then he pressed his hand to his heart for a moment, as though to still some wild commotion there; and then, as if afraid to hesitate any longer, he made his way quickly back on deck.

Ella was watching anxiously for him. The moment she saw his white set face, she became filled with alarm. "What is amiss?" she cried, her fears flying to the boatman. "Is Petherton ill? Has anything happened to him?"

"Yes," shortly replied Hubert; "not much. You had better come on board, Miss Winter."

Ella did not hesitate another moment. She had known George Petherton all her life, and liked him greatly. A thought came over her that the man might have fallen and hurt himself amidst the damaged cordage and rigging.

"Put one foot there and the other here, and give me your hand," said Hubert. Miss Winter, active and fearless, did as she was bidden. Next moment she was standing on the deck.

"You will find him aft in the captain's cabin, if you go down," said Hubert.

Thinking only of the poor old boatman, Ella went slowly down the little staircase, and was presently lost to view. When Hubert could no longer see her, he gave a great gasp, and, sinking on one knee, he laid his head against the bulwarks of the brig. "What have I done? What have I done?" he cried. "It is too late now to turn back. Too late!"

He rose slowly when he heard the young lady's returning footsteps. She came up looking about her.

"I can't find George Petherton," she said. "He is not below. I thought you told me----"

"I told you a lie, Miss Winter. Petherton went ashore hours ago."

Ella gazed at him in amazement.

"Then why did you say he was on board? What does all this mean?"

"Oh, are you blind?--cannot you guess?" he burst forth, unfolding his arms and drawing a step nearer to her.

Ella, on her part, stepped back: she was becoming frightened at the matter altogether, and at the fierce, dreadful look in his eyes.

"I brought you here, knowing we should be alone and beyond the reach of men, to tell you a secret, Miss Winter. I brought you here because I love you," he added, flinging himself on his knees before her; "because I cannot live another day without telling you! I have you to myself here, and none can interfere."

"Get up instantly," she indignantly cried, with all the bravery she could command. "Never let me hear another word of this folly. Help me into the boat again: I will return to the shore." Her heart was beating very fast and all the colour had left her lips, but there was a fine fire of anger in her eyes.

"Folly! yes, that is the word for it," answered Hubert, as he rose to his feet. "Not until you have listened to the whole tale of folly do you leave this spot."

"You would not dare to detain me?" said Ella, proudly.

"Indeed, but I would: I do. Being in the mood, I would dare much more than that," boasted Hubert. The spirit he had taken was beginning to take effect upon him. "Oh, my sweet mistress!" he resumed, his manner changing to softness, "why do you scorn me thus? How was it possible for me daily to see you and not love you? Do you think I have willingly brought this misery on myself? You have blighted my life, but what of that?--it has been one long worship of you. I have loved you ever since the days when we used to gather blackberries in the lanes with your nurse, and dig for pretty shells in the sand."

He paused with emotion. Ella felt more scared with every word.

"Why did not Fate make me your equal instead of your servant? Surely the force of my love would have drawn yours in return. I have hands to work for you, I have a brain to plan for you, I have love that would never grow cold. I am not without manners or education; but, despite all these things, the world does not count me--a gentleman. I am but a son of the soil, and I must not dare to look up to any lady with the eyes of love."

His tone, full of anguish--almost of despair, was respectful now. Despite Ella's indignation, she felt some compassion for him.

"You must forget all this," she said, with gentle gravity: "and I will try to forget that you ha............