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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1868 edition. Excerpt: ... CHAPTER XXVI. The Barren, Barren Shore! T was twilight, --dreary, drizzling, cloudy twilight, such as we sometimes endure with a sort of impatient sadness, even when there is no cause for grief. A twilight that dulls our spirits as it sinks over the leaden sea. Colour gone, --light gone, --warmth gone, --all silent, and wet, and cold. The wind low and hushed: coming in little fitful gusts round the rocks and hollow caves; puffs of weak vapour; no freshness, no wildness in the blast; as if great Nature were, in the words of Shakespeare, --'In all her functions weary of herself.' The tiny lodgings and cottages by the sea were beginning to darken. One after one the glimmering lights went out. The terrified old washerwoman pulled down her sleeves over her bare arms, and looked round with a shudder at the scoured and mopped floor of her dwelling, before she sat down to supper with two gaping friends who had dropped in to keep her company after the awful event of the day. Lady Charlotte was recovering from repeated hysterics in the ' pastoral cottage' covered with roses and honey-suckles; and leaning her head on Gertrude's shoulder was watching, with something like a returning smile, the energetic attempts of Neil to make tea and wait on her and his mother. Far away, at the police-station, quivered the gas-light over the door, and with a ghastly brilliancy shone on the closed shutters of the room where the murdered smuggler's corpse was lying; waiting for evidence, and coroner's inquest, and some one to own and identify him, and to take some sort of interest in this sudden destruction of a man in the prime of life and life's energies. And duly, by and by, muffled in a shawl--ashamed of her love; of his fate; of the brawl with some unknown ruffia