“You’ll take my word, Poll Perrow,” said Leslie quietly. “I did not know you were here.”
“Yes, I’ll believe you, Master Leslie, sir. But you was watching some one else?”
“No, I came for a walk, my good woman, that’s all.”
“Then I won’t stop you, sir. Good-night, sir.”
“Good-night,” said Leslie; and feeling more content, he took out his cigar-case, and after selecting one by feeling, he went back into the coastguards’ station and struck a match.
He looked along the cliff-path as the match flashed, and caught sight faintly of the old woman.
“Watching me anyhow,” he said to himself, as he lit his cigar. “Now what can that old girl be doing here? She’s fifty-five if she’s a day, but if she is not courting and had a quarrel with her youthful lover, I’m what that old lady says that Van Heldre is—a Dutchman.”
He turned back along the path feeling comparatively light-hearted and restful. The long, dark, weary walk to tire himself was forgotten, and he went slowly back along the coastguard path, turning a little from time to time to gaze over his left shoulder at the brilliant planet which rose higher and higher over the glistening sea.
“Hope!” he said half aloud. “What a glorious word that is, and what a weary world this would be if there were none! Yes, I will hope.”
He walked slowly on, wondering whether Poll Perrow was watching and following him. Then he forgot all about her, for his thoughts were fixed upon the granite house across the estuary, and the sweet sad face of Louise half in shadow, half lit by the soft glow of the shaded lamp.