I was alone then with the smoker, who troubled himself very little about me.  The coquettish moon threw a wide, laughing gleam around, then vanished.  A whole pile of thick, dark clouds came up from the west and hid her fair face—­by them the thick, soft gloom had deepened into darkness.  I was far from expecting anything tragical as I sat there, cold and desolate, lonely.  As it was, the Chain Pier was more like home to me than any other spot on earth, because of the one hour I had spent there.

The wind began to freshen and blow coldly where I sat.  I had no motive in changing my seat, except to escape the sharpness of the breeze.  I crossed to the other side, where the white line of cliffs lay—­away from the brilliant lights of the west pier, hidden behind the wooden structure erected to shelter those on the pier.  I gave myself up to my dreams.

I cannot tell how it was, but to-night many ghostly stories that I had read about piers came to my mind.  For instance, now, how easy it would be for any man to steal up to me through the thick, soft, shadowy mist, and murder me before I had time even to utter a cry, I might be thrown over into the sea.

Then I said to myself, what a foolish thought!  I was close to many people, such a murder was quite impossible.  Yet I was foolish enough to turn my head and try to peer through the darkness to see if any one was near.

The tall, slender figure of a woman dressed in a dark cloak was slowly walking up the middle of the pier.  She could not see me, but I saw her—­plainly, distinctly.  I noticed the grace of her movements, her grand carriage.  She was closely veiled, so that I could not see her face.  But, unless I was much mistaken, she carried a bundle of something held tightly under her arm.

CHAPTER II.

If this had been an ordinary woman, I should not have noticed her, beyond the passing regard of the moment; it was the grace of her walk that attracted my attention, and I felt sure that as she passed my by I heard the sound of bitter passionate sobbing.

The old story over again, I thought—­sorrow and pain, longing and love!  But for the sound of that sob as she passed me I should not have watched her—­I should not have known what afterward I would have given my life not to know.

She walked right on to the very head of the pier, and stood there for a few minutes.  I knew, by instinct, that she was crying bitterly; then I was struck by the manner in which she looked round; it was evident to me that she wished to be quite alone.  At times the waves playing round the wooden pillars made some unusual sound; she turned quickly, as though she suspected some one was near her.  Once a gentleman strolled leisurely down the pier, stood for a few minutes watching the sea in silence, then went away; while he was there she stood still and motionless as a statue; then she looked round with a stealthy gaze—­a gaze so unlike the free, grand grace of her movements that I was struck by it.  She could not see me because I was in the deep shadow, but I could see every gesture of hers.  I saw her raise her face to the darkling skies, and I felt that some despairing prayer was on her lip, and the reason why I could see her so plainly was this, that she stood just where the rays of the lamps fell brightly.