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 the sea, I suppose. It does prostrate some people, and leave them weak."

"Mrs.—Lady Onslow—my wife?" gasped the wretched man.

"She has left the island, my dear sir, and really you must— Good Heavens! what are you going to do?"

"Return at once," said Onslow, trying to rise.

"Impossible. You are not fit to travel."

"Must travel."

"But there is no boat till to-morrow morning between nine and ten, and even if there were, believe me, my dear sir, it would be madness. It is my duty to tell you that you seem to me to be developing symptoms that—"

The doctor said no more, for Frank Onslow had sunk on the couch insensible once more, and the next day's boat had gone when, weak so that he had to support himself with a stick, he made his way slowly along the cliffs after dispatching a telegram to Jacynth at the hotel at Liverpool telling him of his state, of his failure, and imploring him to send news.

He knew that it would be hours before an answer could come, and to try and calm himself he was slowly walking along the path, gazing out to sea at the swiftly coming tide, and thinking of the long period that had to be got over before he could take boat the next morning, and escape from what now seemed to him a prison.