Mr. Grey rose precipitately. His manner had changed.
“I must see him. What you tell me makes it all the more necessary for me to see him. How can you bring it about?”
“Without his seeing you?” Sweetwater asked.
“Yes, yes; certainly without his seeing me. Couldn’t you rap him up at his own door, and hold him in talk a minute, while I looked on from the carriage or whatever vehicle we can get to carry us there? The least glimpse of his face would satisfy me. That is, to-night.”
“I’ll try,” said Sweetwater, not very sanguine as to the probable result of this effort.
Returning to the stables, he ordered the team. With the last ray of the sun they set out, the reins in Sweetwater’s hands.
They headed for the coast-road.
XVIII.
THE CLOSED DOOR
The road was once the highway, but the tide having played so many tricks with its numberless bridges a new one had been built farther up the cliff, carrying with it the life and business of the small town. Many old landmarks still remained—shops, warehouses and even a few scattered dwellings. But most of these were deserted, and those that were still in use showed such neglect that it was very evident the whole region would soon be given up to the encroaching sea and such interests as are inseparable from it.
The hour was that mysterious one of late twilight, when outlines lose their distinctness and sea and shore melt into one mass of uniform gray. There was no wind and the waves came in with a soft plash, but so near to the level of the road that it was evident, even to these strangers, that the tide was at its height and would presently begin to ebb.