red on towards the black
point of cliff bounding the immediate view.

"I say, there's a cave. I bet you there's a cave," Michael called to his
companion who was examining a dead fish.

"Wait a jiffy," shouted Hands; but Michael hurried on to the cave. He
wanted to be the first to enter under its jagged arch. Already he could
see the silver sand shimmering upon the threshold of the inner darkness.
He walked in, awed by the secrecy of this sea-cavern, almost expectant
of a mermaid or octopus in the deepest cranny. Suddenly he stopped. His
heart beat furiously: his head swam: his legs quivered under him. Then
he turned and ran towards the light.

"Good lummy!" said Hands, when Michael came up to him. "Whatever's the
matter? You're simply frightfully white."

"Come away," said Michael. "I saw something beastly."

"What was it?"

"There's a man in there and a woman. Oh, it was beastly."

Michael dragged Hands by the arm, but not before they had left the cave
far behind would he speak.

"What was it really?" asked Hands, when they stood at the bottom of the
cliff.

"I couldn't possibly tell anybody ever," said Michael.

"You're making it up," scoffed Hands.

"No, I'm not," said Michael. "Look here, don't say anything to the
others about that cave. Promise."

Hands promised silence; and he and Michael soon discovered a pathway up
the cliff. When they reached the garden, it was a deeper green than ever
in the falling twilight, and they did not care to linger far from the
house. It was a relief to hear voices and to see Rutherford, Hargreaves
and Jubb still eating plums. Presently they played games on a lawn with
Mr. Vernon and Mr. Lodge, and soon, after reading sleepily for a while
in the tumble-down room which was set apart for the boys' use, Michael
and Hands went to bed and, after an exciting encounter with a bat, fell
asleep.

The days in Brittany went by very swiftly. In the morning at eight
o'clock there were great bowls of cafe au lait and rolls with honey and
butter waiting in the dining-room for the boys, when they came back from
bathing. All the other boys except Michael had come to France to improve
their French; but he worked also at the first book of Ovid's
Metamorphoses and at Lucian's Charon, because he was going in for a
scholarship at St. James'. However, these classical subjects were put
away at eleven o'clock, when dejeuner with all sorts of new and
delicious dishes was served. After this the