"'What does it mean!'" cried Helen, in agony. "Don't you see? A legacy! The poor thing has divided his little all. Oh, my heart! What has become of him?" Then, with one of those inspirations her sex have, she cried, "Ah! Cooper's grave!"
Hazel, though not so quick as she was, caught her meaning at a word, and flew down the slope to the seashore. The tide was out. A long irregular track of footsteps indented the sand. He stopped a moment and looked at them. They pointed toward that cleft where the grave was. He followed them all across the sand. They entered the cleft, and did not return. Full of heavy foreboding he rushed into the cleft.
Yes; his arms hanging on each side of the grave, and his cheek laid gently on it, there lay Tom Welch, with a loving smile on his dead face. Only a man; yet faithful as a dog.
Hazel went back slowly, and crying. Of all men living, he could best appreciate fidelity and mourn its fate.
But, as he drew near Helen, he dried his eyes; for it was his duty to comfort her.
She had at first endeavored to follow him; but after a few steps her knees smote together, and she was fain to sit down on the grassy slope that overlooked the sea.
The sun was setting huge and red over that vast and peaceful sea.
She put her hands to her head, and, sick at heart, looked heavily at that glorious and peaceful sight. Hazel came up to her. She looked at his face, and that look was enough for her. She rocked herself gently to and fro.
"Yes," said he, in a broken voice. "He was there—quite dead."
He sat gently down by her side, and looked at that setting sun and illimitable ocean, and his heart felt deadly sad. "He is gone—and we are alone—on this island."