and fearful.  Not so, however, it seemed to Marian, who, filled with happy, generous and tumultuous thoughts, was scarcely conscious of the gathering darkness and the lowering storm, as she walked up and down upon the beach, listening and waiting.  She wondered that Thurston had not been there ready to receive her; but this thought gave her little uneasiness; it was nearly lost, as the storm and darkness also were, in the brightness and gladness of her own loving, generous emotions.  There was no room in her heart for doubt or trouble.  If the thought of the morning’s conversation and of Angelica entered her mind, it was only to be soon dismissed with fair construction and cheerful hope.  And then she pictured to herself the surprise, the pleasure of Thurston, when he should hear of the accession of fortune which should set them both free to pursue their inclinations and plans for their own happiness and for the benefit of others.  And she sought in her bosom if the letters were safe.  Yes; there they were; she felt them.  Her happiness had seemed a dream without that proof of its reality.  For once she gave way to imagination, and allowed that magician to build castles in the air at will.  Thurston and herself must go to England immediately to take possession of the estate; that was certain.  Then they must return.  But ere that she would confide to him her darling project; one that she had never breathed to any, because to have done so would have been vain; one that she had longingly dreamed of, but never, as now, hoped to realize.  And Edith—­she would make Edith so comfortable!  Edith should be again surrounded with the elegancies and refinements of life.  And Miriam—­Miriam should have every advantage of education that wealth could possibly secure for her, either in this country or in Europe.  If Edith would spare Miriam, the little girl should go with her to England.  But Thurston—­above all, Thurston!  A heavy drop of rain struck Marian in the face, and, for an instant, woke her from her blissful reverie.

She looked up.  Why did not Thurston come?  The storm would soon burst forth upon the earth; where was Thurston?  Were he by her side there would be nothing formidable in the storm, for he would shelter her with his cloak and umbrella, as they should scud along over the fields to the cottage, and reach the fireside before the rain could overtake them.  Where was he?  What could detain him at such a time?  She peered through the darkness up and down the beach.  To her accustomed eye, the features of the landscape were dimly visible.  That black form looming like a shadowy giant before her was the headland of Pine Bluff, with its base washed by the sullen waves.  It was the only object that broke the dark, dull monotony of the shore.  She listened; the moan of the sea, the wail of the wind, were blended in mournful chorus.  It was the only sound that broke the dreary silence of the hour.