Weed-on-the-Sands is a quiet little watering-place on the south coast in the county of Sussex. Round the original fishing-village a flourishing town of villas and shops has grown, and as it is reached only by a branch line from the main trunk railway it is rarely overcrowded. In fact, a select number of invalids and holiday-makers come to Weed-on-the-Sands every year for cure and enjoyment. The general public find the place too quiet, as the tiny town has no bandstand, or esplanade, or entertainments of any kind whatsoever. There are smooth sands, with seaweed-covered rocks--hence the odd name of the resort--a rude jetty, which stretches out some little distance into deep water, and one or two or three crooked streets, which are united with the wider and straighter thoroughfares of the new town. A prettier or quieter or more agreeable place could scarcely be found in England, and certainly not on the south coast.
To this miniature Eden Mr. and Mrs. Shawe came to pass their honeymoon, and took rooms at an old-fashioned inn, called the Three Fishers. The landlady was a buxom widow belonging to the Dickens era, and having a sympathy with lovers, or, rather, with newly-married couples, she made them extremely comfortable. Audrey and her husband greatly enjoyed the peace after the exciting events in which they had so lately taken part. They wandered on the sands and drove about the surrounding country, and found, more than ever, that they were all in all to one another. After a week of this dwelling in Paradise the doings of the last few months became more dreamlike and endurable. To poor Audrey this atmosphere of peace and sympathy and love was like a forecast of heaven.
"I wish it would last for ever," she said, when they sat one morning on the rocks at the far end of the sandy beach.
"It will last all our lives," murmured the happy husband, who was lying at her feet with his head on her lap.
Mrs. Shawe looked doubtful. "I don't think so," she said seriously. "We must go back to the world, Ralph, and then our troubles will begin again."
"Well, we can bear them, dearest, so long as we have one another. Besides, I don't see why we should have further trouble. We shan't be rich, certainly, but I daresay we'll manage to keep a tiny flat and one servant. Then while I am working you can stay at home and look after the house. Lady Sanby, as the fairy godmother, will take us into what society we need."
"I don't think we'll need any," replied Audrey, gazing at the bright blue sea that sparkled in the sunshine. "I would rather stay at home night after night with you."
"But, my dear, you would weary of such tame domesticity."
"No I wouldn't, Ralph. All my life I have wanted real sympathy and love, and I have never had any, save from my poor dear mother, who was always kind. It will be a joy to feel that I am at peace, safe in the shelter of your arms."
"Dear," said Ralph, kissing the wrist of the arm which lay round his neck, "I shall do all a man can do to make you really happy. Then, I take it," he added, with some hesitation, "that you have given up all idea of searching into the mystery of your mother's death?"