“Yes, my dear Jane,” she murmured, dreamily watching a snow-white sail, as it rounded the point, curtseyed, and vanished from view; “undoubtedly a—a well-expressed sentence; but far from—from—being fact. The safely abstract could hardly require—a—a—a cameo——”
The long walk, the sea breeze, the distant lapping of the water—all these combined had done their soothing work.
Lady Ingleby slept peacefully in Horseshoe Cove; and the rising tide crept in.
CHAPTER IX
JIM AIRTH TO THE RESCUE
An hour later, a man swung along the path at the summit of the cliffs, whistling like a blackbird.
The sun was setting; and, as he walked, he revelled in the gold and crimson of the sky; in the opal tints upon the heaving sea.
The wind had risen as the sun set, and breakers were beginning to pound along the shore.