"I am sure the subject is very grave, you look so unhappy." Now the time was come! That beautiful face would never look into mine again.

I steeled my heart by thinking of the tiny baby face I had seen on the wooden bench of the pier--so like hers--the little drowned face! "I will tell you of what I am thinking, Mrs.Fleming," I said; "but I must tell it to you as a story." "Do," she said, in a gentle voice, and she gathered the scarlet poppies as she spoke.
"There were two friends once upon a time," I began, "who loved each other with a love deeper and truer than the love of brothers." She nodded her head with a charming smile; I saw an expression of great relief pass over her face.
"I understand," she said; "as you and Lance love each other, there is something most beautiful in the love of men." "These two spent much time together; their interests were identical, they shared at that time the same hopes and fears.

They were parted for a time, one was busy with his own affairs, the other, an invalid, went to Brighton for his health." How the smile died away; the sun did not set more surely or more slowly than that sweet smile of interest died from her lips, but no fear replaced it at first.
"The friend who was an invalid went to Brighton, as I have said, for his health, and either fate or Providence took him one night to the Chain Pier." I did not look at her; I dared not.

My eyes wandered over the running river, where the crimson clouds were reflected like blood; but I heard a gasping sound as of breath hardly drawn.

I went on: "The Chain Pier that evening lay in the midst of soft, thick gloom; there was no sound on it save the low washing of the waves and the shrill voice of the wind as it played amongst the wooden piles.