We were walking away from the house, in the direction of the cliff which forms one of the iron-bound limits of the cove and extends out into the open sea.  Miss Jelliffe was very silent.  It is easy to see that she regrets the idea of leaving, but now something seemed to be oppressing her.

“You don’t know how greatly I shall miss all this,” she told me, in a low voice.  “It has been a simple existence full of a charm that has meant more than all the golf and autos and dancing.  I have regretted none of the yachting or the Newport gayeties.  None of those things compare at all with what one finds in poor old Sweetapple Cove, with all its smell of fish, or even its rains and fogs.  These only blot out an outer world that seems of little interest now, and after a while the sun always comes out again.”

I walked by her side, and after going for a short distance we sat upon a rock and looked out over the ocean, which extended afar, under a sky that was dark with mountainous masses of piled-up clouds.  The great roll of the sea struck the foot of the cliffs rather slowly, as if performing some solemn function, and the swash of the returning water was like some strange dirge.  The very waves had lost their blueness and were tinted with a leaden, muddy hue.

“It looks as if some awful storm were coming,” said Miss Jelliffe.

“It may pass away,” I answered, “but I don’t generally shine as a weather prophet.”

We sat there for some time, watching the ominous stirring of the clouds, that seemed like an invading army whose might would soon be unleashed and burst out with fierce violence.  Then, in the distance, we saw a small boat.  The tan-hued sails flapped idly and one could see that the men were rowing hard.

“They are pulling for their lives,” I said.  “I hope they get in soon.  It looks as if they were coming from Edward’s Bay.  It is likely enough that it is another call for me.  All the boats belonging to the Cove are in, as far as I can see.  They all know very well what is coming.”

“Then you will have to rush away again!” she exclaimed.

“It is all in the game,” I answered.  “One has to try to play it according to the rules.”

“Yes, and you try very hard,” she said.  “Those journeys over rough waters, those nights of watching, the toil over hopeless cases, the meager reward when devoted care has saved.  It is surely a wonderful game, and you play it well.”

I have always been glad to see the enthusiasm of healthy and strong young womanhood.  The girls of to-day like to see a man’s game played, and they surely know how to help.

We continued to watch the small boat, which rose and fell to the swing of the long rollers.  The wind was beginning to rise a little, striking the water with black squalls, and we saw the little sails grow rigid as the boat careened and sped towards us like an affrighted bird.

“They will make it all right, thank goodness,” I said.