to the darkness,
and sped, fleet-footed, along the only path which Ericson could have
taken. He could not bear to be left in the house while his friend was
out in the rain.

He was sure of joining him before he reached the new town, for he was
fleet-footed, and there was a path only on one side of the way, so that
there was no danger of passing him in the dark. As he ran he heard the
moaning of the sea. There must be a storm somewhere, away in the deep
spaces of its dark bosom, and its lips muttered of its far unrest. When
the sun rose it would be seen misty and gray, tossing about under the
one rain cloud that like a thinner ocean overspread the heavens--tossing
like an animal that would fain lie down and be at peace but could not
compose its unwieldy strength.

Suddenly Robert slackened his speed, ceased running, stood, gazed
through the darkness at a figure a few yards before him.

An old wall, bowed out with age and the weight behind it, flanked the
road in this part. Doors in this wall, with a few steps in front of them
and more behind, led up into gardens upon a slope, at the top of which
stood the houses to which they belonged. Against one of these doors the
figure stood with its head bowed upon its hands. When Robert was within
a few feet, it descended and went on.

'Mr. Ericson!' exclaimed Robert. 'Ye'll get yer deith gin ye stan' that
gait i' the weet.'

'Amen,' said Ericson, turning with a smile that glimmered wan through
the misty night. Then changing his tone, he went on: 'What are you
after, Robert?'

'You,' answered Robert. 'I cudna bide to be left my lane whan I micht be
wi' ye a' the time--gin ye wad lat me. Ye war oot o' the hoose afore I
weel kent what ye was aboot. It's no a fit nicht for ye to be oot at a',
mair by token 'at ye're no the ablest to stan' cauld an' weet.'

'I've stood a great deal of both in my time,' returned Ericson; 'but
come along. We'll go and get that fiddle-string.'

'Dinna ye think it wad be fully better to gang hame?' Robert ventured to
suggest.

'What would be the use? I'm in no mood for Plato to-night,' he answered,
trying hard to keep from shivering.

'Ye hae an ill cauld upo' ye,' persisted Robert; 'an' ye maun be as weet
's a dishcloot.'

Ericson laughed--a strange, hollow laugh.

'Come along,' he said. 'A walk will do me good. We'll get the string,
and then you shall play to me. That will do me more good yet.'

Robert ceased opposing him, and they walke