“Well, Tardif?” I said, impatiently, as he paused, looking absently into the dull embers of the seaweed fire.

“I turned it over in my own mind then,” he continued, “and I’ve turned it over in my own mind since, and I can make no sort of an account of it—­a young lady travelling without any friends in a dress like that, as if she had not had a minute to spare in getting ready for her journey.  It was a bad night for a journey too.  Could she be going to see some friend who was dying?  At every station I looked out to see if my young lady left the train; but no, not even at Southampton.  Was she going on to France?  ‘I must look out for her at the pier-head,’ I said to myself.  But when we stopped at the pier I did not want her to think I was watching her, only I stood well in the light, that she might see me when she looked round.  I saw her stand as if she was considering, and I moved away very slowly to our boat, to give her the chance of speaking to me, if she wished.  But she only followed me very quietly, as if she did not want me to see her, and she went down into the ladies’ cabin in a moment, out of sight.  Then I thought, ’She is running away from some one, or from something.’  She had no shawls, or umbrellas, or baskets, such as ladies are always cumbered with, and that looked strange.”

“How was she dressed?” I asked.

“She wore a soft, bright-brown jacket,” he answered—­“a seal-skin they call it, though I never saw a seal with a skin like that—­and a hat like it, and a blue-silk gown, and her little muddy velvet slippers.  It was a strange dress for travelling, wasn’t it, doctor?”

“Very strange indeed,” I repeated.  An idea was buzzing about my brain that I had heard a description exactly similar before, but I could not for the life of me recall where.  I could not wait to hunt it out then, for Tardif was in a full flow of confidence.

“But my heart yearned to her,” he said, “more than ever it did over any bird fallen from its nest, or any lamb that had slipped down the cliffs.  All the softness and all the helplessness of every poor little creature I had ever seen in my life seemed about her; all the hunted creatures and all the trapped creatures came to my mind.  I can hardly tell you about it, doctor.  I could have risked my life a hundred times over for her.  It was a rough night, and I kept seeing her pale, hunted-looking face before me, though there was not half the danger I’ve often been in round our islands.  I couldn’t keep myself from fancying we were all going down to the bottom of the sea, and that poor young thing, running away from one trouble, was going to meet a worse—­if it is worse to die than to live in great trouble.  Dr. Martin, they tell me all the bed of the sea out yonder under the Atlantic is a smooth, smooth floor, with no currents, or tides, or streams, but a great calm; and there is no life down there of any kind.  Well, that night I seemed to see the dead who have perished by sea lying there