The loud knock of the Captain, at the cottage door, was quickly answered by Mrs. Williamson, who, in terms of genuine pleasure, welcomed his safe return, and the little party were ushered into the sitting-room, whose neat and even tasteful appearance, formed a striking contrast to the generality of the fishermen’s huts.

Mr. Clifford’s quick eye, as they entered, sought the window, but the seat was vacant now; evidences of its having been lately occupied were discernible in a work-basket that stood on a table near, and on which some embroidered muslin had been lightly thrown.

The Captain smiled as he observed Mr. Clifford’s disappointed look, and turning to Mrs. Williamson, who was assisting his wife in divesting herself of her shawl and bonnet, inquired after her daughter.

“She is quite well, thank you,” was her reply, “and was here a moment ago, but observing you in the distance, ran to inform her father; who is working beyond the hill at the back of the dwelling.  She will be back shortly.”

A slight sigh escaped from Mr. Clifford, unheard by all save his friend, who turned to him with a mischievous smile, which the former easily interpreted as, “I wonder which was right, you or I?”

In the meanwhile, Mrs. Williamson was entreating Mrs. Pierce to take some rest, “for indeed you look much in need of it,” she added, “and I will have a cup of strong tea ready for you in a few moments, for you need something to refresh you, I am sure, after being so long on the salt water.”

Her husband seconded Mrs. Williamson’s advice.

“You had better go, my dear, and lay down for a little while, and you will feel vastly better, I assure you.  As for me, I must now go back to the ship, but will return in time to join you in a good cup of tea, which, from past experience, I know will be excellent,—­and I suppose I shall then see Mr. Williamson and daughter.”

“Oh, yes, Sir,” was the reply.  “They should have been back before this; but I expect husband was farther off than Ellen imagined, and seeking for him has detained her.”

Gaily waving an adieu, the Captain hurried away, and Mrs. Pierce following the fisherman’s wife into her chamber, Ernest Clifford was left alone.  He seated himself at the open casement in a listless attitude; for though he would hardly acknowledge it to himself, he could not help a feeling of disappointment in finding his air castle so quickly shattered.

The only object of attraction to be seen from the casement was a fine view of the sea; but Ernest had been too long a sojourner on the wild waste of waters, not to have become weary of their monotony, and tired of gazing at what had been so long a familiar object, he turned his attention to the interior of the room.  As he glanced round the apartment, he could not help admiring the spotless neatness which marked it, for everything was in the most perfect order, while the few ornaments and some pretty shells, that the fisherman and Ellen’s betrothed had brought on their return from different voyages, were tastefully arranged on the mantel-piece and tables, with several books, which, from the pencilled passages he observed as he opened them, had evidently been well conned.  In one, a small volume of miscellaneous poems, Ellen’s name was inscribed on the fly-leaf, in a graceful Italian hand, evidently a lady’s writing.