"Nance Folgate," said Rose.
"Ah—true, yes—we took a turn together; and when I saw him last he was going towards the chine."
"The chine!" exclaimed the girls together, in a tone of surprise that was not unmingled with alarm.
"The chine, at this hour!" repeated Mr. Basset.
"It was eight then; and he said he intended to enjoy a quiet weed along the cliffs."
"Most strange!" said Ethel, "when he had news of importance to communicate to me."
"He cannot be long now. I returned without him, as I felt odd—giddy; the regalias I sometimes smoke here don't agree with me. I used to get such prime ones in Mexico."
"You look pale—absolutely ill," said Mr. Basset; "have some wine. What is the matter?"
"Thanks," replied Hawkshaw, almost tottering into a chair, and tossing his red cap aside.
"The last bottle of our Cliquot is on the sideboard."