Nell of Shorne Mills

He said nothing, but looked at her through the thin blue cloud of his

cigarette. She looked so sweet, so girlish, so--yes, so helpless--lying

there in the sunlight, one brown paw supporting her shapely head, the

other--after the manner of girls--dabbling in the water. A pang of

compassion smote him.

"It's a devil of a world," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Do you think so?" she said, with surprise. "I don't. At any rate, I

don't think so this afternoon."

"Why this afternoon?" he asked, half curiously.

"Oh, I don't know. Perhaps it's the sunshine, or--or--do you think it's

the mackerel?"

She laughed.

"But I feel so happy and free from care. And yet all the old trouble

remains. There's Dick's future--and--oh, all the rest. But this

afternoon everything seems bright and hopeful. I wonder why?"

She looked at him wistfully, as if he might perhaps explain; but Vernon

said nothing.

"Have you really finished that cigarette? You smoke much less quickly

than Dick. Well, there's another ready; and when you've finished that, I

think we ought to be getting back. I want--let me see--yes, ten more

fish, and I can get them when we get farther out."

They set the sail, and the _Annie Laurie_ glided out of the placid

little cove into the open sea.

As Vernon steered for the Head, behind which Shorne Mills sheltered, he

sighed unconsciously. He, too, had been happy and free from care that

morning, and the afternoon seemed full of indescribable peace and

happiness. He, like Nell, wondered why. A day or two ago--or was it a

month, a year?--he had been depressed and low-spirited, and firmly

convinced that life was not worth living; but this afternoon---What a pretty picture she made in her jersey, that fitted her like a

skin, with the soft black hair rippling beneath the edge of the

tam-o'-shanter!

Suddenly the pretty picture called out, "Sail ahead, sir!" and Vernon,

taking his eyes from her, saw a yacht skimming along the sapphire waves,

almost parallel with the _Annie Laurie_.

"That's a yacht," said Nell; "and a fine one, too."

He looked at it, shading his eyes with his practicable hand.

"I wonder who she is?" said Nell. "There's a field glass in the

locker--get it. Can you see her name?"

He put the glass to his eyes and adjusted it; and, as he got the focus,

an exclamation escaped him.

"What did you say?" inquired Nell.

"Nothing, only that she's a fine vessel," he said indifferently.