Mrs. Porter's arm stole around the other woman as she read the message:—
Mr. Barry died last night. Please come at once.
Henry Radcliffe.
Miss Barry's limbs shook under her, and she tottered to a chair.
Captain Holt sat on the edge of the piazza and bit a blade of grass while he waited.
In the silence a pall seemed to fall over the little house, broken only by the sharp rending apart of mounting waves against the rocks.
Mrs. Porter knelt by her friend and held her hands.
"What can I do for you?" she asked.
"Look in the desk over in that corner, and find the time-tables in the drawer."
"I know the Chicago trains, Miss Barry. Let me arrange it all for you. You wish to leave to-night?"