The Haunted Cove

Commonplace in itself and showing positive vulgarity in the style in
which its pleasure-grounds are laid out, Clyffe, near Berwick-on-
Tweed, has yet one delightful feature of its own,--to wit, a private
bay to which access is obtained by a tunnel seventy or eighty yards
long, cut through the soft formation of the cliff from the sloping
gardens above. The result is that, if you are a visitor at Clyffe, you
have your own private bathing ground, your own private beach where the
children may play, without fear of being encroached upon, unless,
indeed, a boat should be run in among the rocks from seaward. In the
early nineties of the last century, the only daughter of the house of
Clyffe was engaged to be married to a young officer quartered at the
military depot at Berwick. They were a blameless but not particularly
interesting couple, and one of their hobbies was to meet and promenade
on the smooth sands of Clyffe bay in the brilliant autumn moonlight.
In order to prevent possible intrusion from the sea, the seaward end
of the tunnel was closed by a heavy iron gate, and upon the inner side
of this gate the Lieutenant was to wait until his fiancee should steal
forth bringing with her the key which should give access to the beach.
It was all very foolish and romantic, no doubt, for they might have
met just as conveniently in the conservatory of Clyffe House, where
their privacy would have been equally respected, and where Miss Alix's
satin shoes and diaphanous draperies would have exposed her to no risk
of a chill. Lovers are like that, however, and had they not been so on
this occasion, I should have had no story to tell.