After prolonged discussion of the subject, Mr Crossley returned to town to make inquiries, and the Captain went to take his favourite walk by the sea-shore, where he was wont, when paying a visit to Sealford, to drive the Leathers’ little dog half-mad with delight by throwing stones into the sea for Scraggy to go in for—which he always did, though he never fetched them out.
In the course of that day Charlie Brooke left his mother to take a stroll, and naturally turned in the direction of the sea. When half-way through the lane with the high banks on either side he encountered May.
“What a pleasant pretty girl she has become!” was his thought as she drew near.
“Nobler and handsomer than ever!” was hers as he approached.
The thoughts of both sent a flush to the face of each, but the colour scarcely showed through the bronzed skin of the man.
“Why, what a woman you have grown, May!” said Charlie, grasping her hand, and attempting to resume the old familiar terms—with, however, imperfect success.
“Isn’t that natural?” asked May, with a glance and a little laugh.
That glance and that little laugh, insignificant in themselves, tore a veil from the eyes of Charlie Brooke. He had always been fond of May Leather, after a fashion. Now it suddenly rushed upon him that he was fond of her after another fashion! He was a quick thinker and just reasoner. A poor man without a profession and no prospects has no right to try to gain the affections of a girl. He became grave instantly.
“May,” he said, “will you turn back to the shore with me for a little? I want to have a talk about Shank. I want you to tell me all you know about him. Don’t conceal anything. I feel as if I had a right to claim your confidence, for, as you know well, he and I have been like brothers since we were little boys.”
May had turned at once, and the tears filled her eyes as she told the sad story. It was long, and the poor girl was graphic in detail. We can give but the outline here.