The Tragedy of the Chain Pier | Page 3

taste; but--ah, me!--there had bloomed for me
for one short hour the flowers of paradise.
The thick, soft gloom was deeper on the pier. I remember that, as I
walked down, I heard from the church clocks the hour of eight. All
along the coast there was a line of light; the town was brilliantly lighted,
and when I looked across the waters the West Pier was in all its
radiance; the sound of the music floated over the waves to me, the light
of the colored lamps shone far and wide. I could see the moving mass
of people; here I was almost alone. I saw a gentleman smoking a cigar,
I saw the inevitable lovers, I saw an old man with an iron face, I saw
two young men, almost boys--what had brought them there I could not
think.
I reached the pier-head, where the huge lamp had been lighted and
shone like a great brilliant jewel. I sat down; there was no greater
pleasure for me than an evening spent there. At first all was quite still;
the gentleman smoking his cigar walked up and down; the two youths,
who had evidently mistaken the nature of the pier, and considered
themselves greatly injured by the absence of music and company, went
away; the old man sat still for some time, then he left.
I was alone then with the smoker, who troubled himself very little
about me. The coquettish moon threw a wide, laughing gleam around,
then vanished. A whole pile of thick, dark clouds came up from the

west and hid her fair face--by them the thick, soft gloom had deepened
into darkness. I was far from expecting anything tragical as I sat there,
cold and desolate, lonely. As it was, the Chain Pier was more like home
to me than any other spot on earth, because of the one hour I had spent
there.
The wind began to freshen and blow coldly where I sat. I had no motive
in changing my seat, except to escape the sharpness of the breeze. I
crossed to the other side, where the white line of cliffs lay--away from
the brilliant lights of the west pier, hidden behind the wooden structure
erected to shelter those on the pier. I gave myself up to my dreams.
I cannot tell how it was, but to-night many ghostly stories that I had
read about piers came to my mind. For instance, now, how easy it
would be for any man to steal up to me through the thick, soft, shadowy
mist, and murder me before I had time even to utter a cry, I might be
thrown over into the sea.
Then I said to myself, what a foolish thought! I was close to many
people, such a murder was quite impossible. Yet I was foolish enough
to turn my head and try to peer through the darkness to see if any one
was near.
The tall, slender figure of a woman dressed in a dark cloak was slowly
walking up the middle of the pier. She could not see me, but I saw
her--plainly, distinctly. I noticed the grace of her movements, her grand
carriage. She was closely veiled, so that I could not see her face. But,
unless I was much mistaken, she carried a bundle of something held
tightly under her arm.

CHAPTER II.
If this had been an ordinary woman, I should not have noticed her,
beyond the passing regard of the moment; it was the grace of her walk
that attracted my attention, and I felt sure that as she passed my by I
heard the sound of bitter passionate sobbing.

The old story over again, I thought--sorrow and pain, longing and love!
But for the sound of that sob as she passed me I should not have
watched her--I should not have known what afterward I would have
given my life not to know.
She walked right on to the very head of the pier, and stood there for a
few minutes. I knew, by instinct, that she was crying bitterly; then I
was struck by the manner in which she looked round; it was evident to
me that she wished to be quite alone. At times the waves playing round
the wooden pillars made some unusual sound; she turned quickly, as
though she suspected some one was near her. Once a gentleman
strolled leisurely down the pier, stood for a few minutes watching the
sea in silence, then went away; while he was there she stood still and
motionless as a statue; then she looked round with a stealthy gaze--a
gaze so unlike the free, grand grace of her movements that I was struck
by it. She could not see me because I was in the