p the road, dropped into a narrow lane.

Presently, as he passed a row of lighted windows, he heard a voice call
to him. He stopped, and perceived a crooked, white-bearded figure,
wearing clerical clothes, standing in the garden gateway.

'Good-evening, Anthony. A raw evening this.'

'Ay, Mr. Blencarn, it is a bit frittish,' he answered. 'I've jest bin
gittin' a few lambs off t'fell. I hope ye're keepin' fairly, an' Miss
Rosa too.' He spoke briefly, with a loud, spontaneous cordiality.

'Thank ye, Anthony, thank ye. Rosa's down at the church, playing over
the hymns for tomorrow. How's Mrs. Garstin?'

'Nicely, thank ye, Mr. Blencarn. She's wonderful active, is mother.'

'Well, good night to ye, Anthony,' said the old man, clicking the gate.

'Good night, Mr. Blencarn,' he called back.

A few minutes later the twinkling lights of the village came in sight,
and from within the sombre form of the square-towered church, looming by
the roadside, the slow, solemn strains of the organ floated out on the
evening air. Anthony lightened his tread: then paused, listening; but,
presently, becoming aware that a man stood, listening also, on the
bridge some few yards distant, he moved forward again. Slackening his
pace, as he approached, he eyed the figure keenly; but the man paid no
heed to him, remaining, with his back turned, gazing over the parapet
into the dark, gurgling stream.

Anthony trudged along the empty village street, past the gleaming
squares of ruddy gold, starting on either side out of the darkness. Now
and then he looked furtively backwards. The straight open road lay
behind him, glimmering wanly: the organ seemed to have ceased: the
figure on the bridge had left the parapet, and appeared to be moving
away towards the church. Anthony halted, watching it till it had
disappeared into the blackness beneath the churchyard trees. Then, after
a moment's hesitation, he left the road, and mounted an upland meadow
towards his mother's farm.

It was a bare, oblong house. In front, a whitewashed porch, and a narrow
garden-plot, enclosed by a low iron railing, were dimly discernible:
behind, the steep fell-side loomed like a monstrous, mysterious curtain
hung across the night. He passed round the back into the twilight of a
wide yard, cobbled and partially grass-grown, vaguely flanked by the
shadowy outlines of long, low farm-buildings. All was wrapped in
darkness: somewhere overhead a bat fluttered, darting its puny s