“Not a bit,” said Uncle Luke. “Let’s get down to the old sea shore again, Louy. If we stop here much longer I shall die. Harry’s safe enough somewhere. Let’s go home.”
Louise made no more opposition, and it was decided that they should start at once, but the journey had to be deferred on account of business connected with Pradelle’s examination.
This was not talked of at the hotel, and Louise remained in ignorance of a great deal of what took place before they were free to depart.
That journey down was full of painful memories for Louise, and it was all she could do to restrain her tears as the train stopped at the station, which was associated in her mind with her brother, and again and again she seemed to see opposite to her, shrinking back in the corner by the window nearest the platform, the wild, haggard eyes and the frightened furtive look at every passenger that entered the carriage.
The journey seemed interminable, and even when Plymouth had been reached, there was still the long slow ride over the great wooden bridges with the gurgling streams far down in the little rock ravines.
“Hah!” said Uncle Luke cheerily, “one begins to breathe now. Look.”
He pointed to the shadow of the railway train plainly seen against the woods, for the full round moon was rising slowly.
“This is better than a gas-lamp shadow, eh, and you don’t get such a moon as that in town. I’ve lost count, George. How are the tides this week?”
Vine shook his head.
“No, you never did know anything about the tides, George. Always did get cut off. Be drowned some day, shut in under a cliff; and you can’t climb.”