Yesterday he had been loved, prosperous, happy, with a bright career before him. To-day he was a nameless outcast, departing into exile, and his young life shadowed by a cloud in which he could see no break.
Well might he weep; it was a hard lesson.
BOOK II.
CHAPTER I.
MY POOR EVA
Two days after the pilot-boat, flitting away from the vessel’s side like some silent-flighted bird, had vanished into the night, Florence Ceswick happened to be walking past the village post-office on her way to pay a visit to Dorothy, when it struck her that the afternoon post must be in, and that she might as well ask if there were any letters for Dum’s Ness. There was no second delivery at Kesterwick, and she knew that it was not always convenient to Mr. Cardus to send in. The civil old postmaster gave her a little bundle of letters, remarking at the same time that he thought that there was one for the Cottage.
“Is it for me, Mr. Brown?” asked Florence.
“No, miss; it is for Miss Eva.”
“O, then I will leave it; I am going up to Dum’s Ness. No doubt Miss Eva will call.”
She knew that Eva watched the arrival of the posts very carefully. When she got outside the office she glanced at the bundle of letters in her hand, and noticed with a start that one of them, addressed to Mr. Cardus, was in Ernest’s handwriting. It bore a Southampton post-mark. What, she wondered, could he be doing at Southampton? He should have been in Guernsey.
She walked on briskly to Dum’s Ness, and on her arrival found Dorothy sitting working in the sitting-room. After she had greeted her she handed over the letters.