“Mr. Betteredge,” he said, “I have a word to say to you about the young woman’s death.  Four foot out, broadwise, along the side of the Spit, there’s a shelf of rock, about half fathom down under the sand.  My question is—­why didn’t she strike that?  If she slipped, by accident, from off the Spit, she fell in where there’s foothold at the bottom, at a depth that would barely cover her to the waist.  She must have waded out, or jumped out, into the Deeps beyond—­or she wouldn’t be missing now.  No accident, sir!  The Deeps of the Quicksand have got her.  And they have got her by her own act.”

After that testimony from a man whose knowledge was to be relied on, the Sergeant was silent.  The rest of us, like him, held our peace.  With one accord, we all turned back up the slope of the beach.

At the sand-hillocks we were met by the under-groom, running to us from the house.  The lad is a good lad, and has an honest respect for me.  He handed me a little note, with a decent sorrow in his face.  “Penelope sent me with this, Mr. Betteredge,” he said.  “She found it in Rosanna’s room.”

It was her last farewell word to the old man who had done his best—­thank God, always done his best—­to befriend her.

“You have often forgiven me, Mr. Betteredge, in past times.  When you next see the Shivering Sand, try to forgive me once more.  I have found my grave where my grave was waiting for me.  I have lived, and died, sir, grateful for your kindness.”

There was no more than that.  Little as it was, I hadn’t manhood enough to hold up against it.  Your tears come easy, when you’re young, and beginning the world.  Your tears come easy, when you’re old, and leaving it.  I burst out crying.

Sergeant Cuff took a step nearer to me—­meaning kindly, I don’t doubt.  I shrank back from him.  “Don’t touch me,” I said.  “It’s the dread of you, that has driven her to it.”

“You are wrong, Mr. Betteredge,” he answered, quietly.  “But there will be time enough to speak of it when we are indoors again.”

I followed the rest of them, with the help of the groom’s arm.  Through the driving rain we went back—­to meet the trouble and the terror that were waiting for us at the house.

CHAPTER XX

Those in front had spread the news before us.  We found the servants in a state of panic.  As we passed my lady’s door, it was thrown open violently from the inner side.  My mistress came out among us (with Mr. Franklin following, and trying vainly to compose her), quite beside herself with the horror of the thing.

“You are answerable for this!” she cried out, threatening the Sergeant wildly with her hand.  “Gabriel! give that wretch his money—­and release me from the sight of him!”

The Sergeant was the only one among us who was fit to cope with her—­being the only one among us who was in possession of himself.