"I suppose," she hesitated, in passing him, "that this is a mere nothing to you after all that you did last night that was really great and unselfish." "Were you never disappointed, Miss ?" he said, with exasperating abruptness.
A quick consciousness of her own thankless labor on the galleon, and a terrible idea that he might have some suspicion of, and perhaps the least suggestion that she might have been disappointed in him, brought a faint color to her cheek.

But she replied with dignity:-- "I really couldn't say.

But certainly," she added, with a new-found pertness, "you don't look it." "Nor do you, Miss," was his idiotic answer.
A few hours later, alarmed at what she had heard of the inroads of the sea, which had risen higher than ever known to the oldest settler, and perhaps mindful of yesterday's footprints, she sought her old secluded haunt.

The wreck was still there, but the sea had reached it.

The excavation between its gaunt ribs was filled with drift and the seaweed carried there by the surges and entrapped in its meshes.