through uplands across the wold to
Burford. From then on all memories were left behind; he had become an
explorer in an unknown country.

Everything was sleeping. How trustfully it slept! Trees were hooded like
extinguished candles. Flowers throughout the fields clasped their faces
in their hands. Birds, like fluffy balls, drowsed on branches. Stars
alone were wakeful. They stooped to watch him with intent, companionable
glances. Now and then he had to halt to flash his torch on a sign-post
or to consult his map. For the most part he took chances and guessed.

Night engulfed him, rushed past him, broke over him. He was like a ship
thrusting forward into a trackless ocean.

The paleness of dawn was in the sky as he neared Gloucester. When he
entered, its roofs and towers were precipices of gold and fire,
straining up to the New Jerusalem which floated in the clouds. The
streets of the ancient city had a mystic look, white and hushed and
tenantless. But already the cheeky sparrows were about,
scandal-mongering beneath the eaves with an unholy disregard for the awe
by which they were surrounded.

He left Gloucester in a southwesterly direction. In fields the hay was
lying cut. A largesse of dew had been scattered through the hedgerows
like loot from the treasure-chests of emperors. Larks were battling up,
striving to sing against the very bars of heaven. Every fragrance and
sound was a messenger, guaranteeing happiness.

Round a bend in the road he came across a cluster of thatched cottages,
their white walls gleaming incandescent in the morning sunshine. Beyond
them lay a parkland, from the edge of which rose a wooded knoll, crowned
by a moated castle. The next mile-stone warned him that it was the
village of Dawn he was approaching.

VI

All day he had waited--a lazy summer day, drowsy with the hum of bees
and heavy with the perfume of cottage flowers. On entering the village
he had put up at _The Dawn Arms_, an old-fashioned hunting hostel which
owed its prosperity to the fame of the Dawn foxhounds. Having bathed and
breakfasted, he had started off to leave his card on Lady Dawn. Arriving
at the Castle, he had been informed that her Ladyship had left early
that morning and was not expected back till early evening. He had filled
in the morning by sleeping and the afternoon by joining a band of
sight-seeing trippers who had driven over from Gloucester in
gayly-painted chars-a-bancs.

With a spice of amusement,