Fatigue seemed to fall from his shoulders.  He went along more swiftly, inspired with new vague hopes.  Down—­down!  The voice of the sea grew nearer; now he could hear the dull thud of the waves, then the weird whistling sounds that succeeded.  Springing from a granite out-jutting to the sands, he looked eagerly, searchingly, this way and that.  He saw no one.  His gaze lowered and he walked from the dry to the wet strand.  There he stopped, an exclamation escaping his lips.

A faint light, falling between black rocks, revealed fresh footprints on the surface of the sands, and, yes!—­a long furrow—­the marks of the keel of a boat.  He studied the footprints closer, but without discovering signs of a woman’s; only the indentations of heavy seamen’s boots were in evidence.  Mr. Heatherbloom experienced a keen disappointment; then felt abruptly reassured.  The impress of her lighter tread had been eliminated by the men in lifting and pushing to launch the boat.  Their boots had roughly kicked up the sand thereabouts.

He was fairly satisfied the woman had embarked.  The seclusion of the spot favored the assumption; the fishing-boats were all either stranded, or at anchor, nearer the village.  But why and whither had she gone?  The ocean, in front, failed to answer the latter question, and his glance turned.  On the one hand was the village; on the other, high, almost perpendicular rocks ran seaward, obscuring the view.  It would not be easy to get around that point; without a boat it could not be done.

Mr. Heatherbloom began to walk briskly toward the village; the moon threw his shadow in odd bobbing motions here and there.  Once he stopped abruptly; some one on the beach afar was approaching.  A fisherman?  Mr. Heatherbloom crouched back among the rocks, when the person came to a halt.  Clinging to the shadows on the landward side of the beach the young man continued to advance, but cautiously, for a single voice might now start a general hue and cry.  Beyond, closer to town, he could see other forms, small dark moving spots.  Not far distant, however, lay the nearest boat; to get to her he had to expose himself to the pale glimmer.  No alternative remained.  He stepped quickly across the sand, reached the craft and strove to launch her.  But she was clumsy and heavy, and resisted his efforts.  The man, whoever he might be, was coming closer; he called out and Mr. Heatherbloom pushed and struggled more desperately—­without avail!  He cast a quick glance over his shoulder; the man was running toward him—­his tones now rang out loudly, authoritatively.  Mr. Heatherbloom did not obey that stern command to halt; instead he made a wild abrupt dash for the sea.  The report of a revolver awoke the echoes and a bullet whizzed close.  Recklessly he plunged into the water.