“It is so much easier to find four people than two,” she said, “particularly when two of them are twins, and one wears a scarlet jersey.  Some one must have seen such a noisy crew, and there is less chance of their having disappeared.”

“Susie isn’t such a silly as all that,” said Tom, with serene confidence.

Mrs. Beauchamp’s eyes shone, and when Tom opened the door she looked out, over his head, into the deepening night.  A few stars had struggled through the clouds, and the moon shone fitfully above the island.  It looked very big and black and peaceful, and Mrs. Beauchamp paused for a moment and looked back at it.

“If,” she said to herself, and then again “if” out loud.

But whatever the disturbing thought might be, she would not give it entrance.  She fixed her mind resolutely on the twins and the red jersey, and pinned her hopes on the police inspector.

CHAPTER X.

But it was extraordinarily difficult to find any clue to the missing family, and the long, miserable hours passed, and brought Mrs. Beauchamp no nearer to the twins.  She trudged up and down the Parade, to the police station, and down the steps to the beach, over and over again, with feet so tired that they almost refused to carry her.

The wet pavement reflected the flickering gas-lamps.  One by one the lights in the windows were put out, and late visitors hurried home.  She clung to the policeman’s solid tramp with a lingering hope, but she was growing desperate; and over everything was the fine rain, coming in gusts from a cloudy sky, wetting her hair, her face, and soaking her skirts.  It was a miserable night, and the police inspector deeply sympathized with her.  He went along the town road and cross-examined the policeman.  He made inquiries and issued orders, and took upon himself to beg the pale, tired lady to go home and wait and see what turned up.  But Mrs. Beauchamp felt that to sit at home doing nothing would be intolerable.  She shook her head and turned again on to the Parade, and with her went Susie’s light feet, so real, so active, that she almost saw the red jersey on a level with her shoulder, and those brown, defiant eyes.  For it was of Susie that her mind was full—­poor Susie, who had “often and often not wanted to go,” but who had gone.

It was easier for little Dickie; all his life it would be easier for Dick than for this eager, forgetful, repentant daughter, whose passionate sorrow always came too late.

Mrs. Beauchamp leaned over the railing at the top, and looked down on to the sands, debating whether it was worth another effort.  The group of fishermen still stood close under the shelter of the cliff; their gruff voices floated up to her, and gave her a feeling of companionship.  She ran down on to the beach, but when she stood in front of them she felt it impossible to speak.  One by one they rose awkwardly, and gazed at her in an embarrassing silence, but making no suggestion, so that it was she who spoke first.