It was growing dusk in my little bedroom; outside my window veils of purple gauze were drawn over sand-hills and shore, and the tide was far out again by the time I was awakened by a tap at my bedroom door.
“Yes?” I called drowsily, wondering, for a second, where I was, and what horrible thing it was that seemed lying in wait for me to wake up properly and remember it.
The door opened and Mrs. Waters came in, carrying a little tray.
“I’ve brought you this, dear.” It was a glass of ginger wine with two biscuits laid over the top of it. “I know you stayed in the water too long this afternoon; you were done up. Drink it up, child.”
I sat up, and she put out her hand to smooth my damp hair while I finished the glassful.
“That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Much, thank you,” I sighed gratefully; for the wine had seemed very heartening, and heartening was what I needed. The horrible memory had come back to me. Two of them, in fact: that of this morning, even before that of this afternoon. His mother knew nothing of either; that I read in the pink, December rose of a face under the grey hair. The dear! and I must leave her....
“I’ve brought you something else too,” she said, almost shyly, like a schoolgirl who isn’t sure that she won’t be snubbed; “something you’ll like.”
She put her hand to her soft black muslin bodice, unfastened something that was hidden inside, and brought out a thin, old-fashioned pendant of flat gold, slung on a slender golden chain.