And this was her wedding-day—­a day of entrancing sunshine, of magic breezes, of perfect June.

He was picturing her to himself as he sat there, just as he had pictured her often—­ah, often—­in the old days.

From his place near the altar he watched her coming towards him up the great, white-decked church.  Her eyes were shining with unclouded happiness.  Behind her bridal veil he caught a glimpse of the exquisite beauty that chained his heart.  Straight towards him the vision moved, and he—­he braced himself to meet it.

A sharp pang of physical pain suddenly wrung his nerves, and in a moment the vision had passed from his eyes.  He groaned and once more covered his face.  Yes, it was her wedding-day.  She was there before the altar in all the splendour of her youth and her loveliness.  But he was alone with his suffering, his broken life, and the long, long, empty years stretching away before him.

He awoke to the soft splashing of the summer tide, out beyond the sand-dunes, and he heard again the clear, low whistle which before had disturbed his dream.

He remained motionless, and a dim, detached wonder crossed his mind.  He had thought himself quite alone.

Again the whistle sounded.  It seemed to come from immediately below him.  Slowly and painfully he raised himself.

The next instant an enormous Newfoundland dog rushed panting into his retreat and proceeded to search every inch of the place with violent haste.  The man on the bench sat still and watched him, but when the animal with a sudden, clumsy movement knocked his crutches on to the floor and out of his reach, he uttered an exclamation of annoyance.

The dog gave him a startled glance and continued his headlong investigation.  He was very wet, and he left a trail of sea water wherever he went.  Finally he bounded out as hurriedly as he had entered, and Hugh Durant was left a prisoner, the nearest of his crutches a full yard away.

He sat and stared at them with a heavy frown.  His helplessness always oppressed him far more than the pain he had to endure.  He cursed the dog under his breath.

“Oh, I am sorry!” a voice said suddenly some seconds later.  “Let me get them for you!”

Durant looked round sharply.  A brown-faced girl in a short, cotton dress stood in the doorway.  Her head was bare and covered with short, black, curly hair that shone wet in the sunshine.  Her eyes were very blue.  For some reason she looked rather ashamed of herself.

She moved forward barefooted and picked up Durant’s crutches.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said again.  “I didn’t know there was any one here till I heard Caesar knock something down.”

She dusted the tops of the crutches with her sleeve and propped them against the table.

“Thanks!” said Durant curtly.  He was not feeling sociable—­he could not feel sociable—­on that day of all days in his life’s record.