ng running right athwart the far side of the valley had
just been strewn with loam; it was the darkest purple. The bright
yellow of the 'kelk' spread in several directions; and here and there
rose thin wreaths of white smoke, where a pile of uprooted couch-grass
was burning; the scent was borne hither by a breeze that could be
scarcely felt.

The clock of the old church struck four.

'A kindness, Mrs. Ormonde!' said Annabel. 'Let me stay here whilst you
drive down into the village. I don't wish to see the people there just
now. To sit here and look down on that picture will do me good.'

'By all means. But I dare say I shall be half an hour. It will take ten
minutes to drive down.'

'Never mind. I shall sit here on the bank, and enjoy myself.'

Now it happened that on this same September day a young man left
Brighton and started to walk eastward along the coast. He had come into
Brighton from London the evening before, having to pay a visit to the
family of an acquaintance of his who had recently died in Pennsylvania,
and who, when dying, had asked him to perform this office on his return
to England. He was no stranger to Brighton; he knew that, if one is
obliged to visit the place, it is well to be there under cover of the
night and to depart as speedily as possible from amid its vulgar
hideousness. So, not later than eight on the following morning, he had
left the abomination behind him, and was approaching Rottingdean.

His destination was Eastbourne; the thought of going thither on foot
came to him as he glanced at a map of the coast whilst at breakfast.
The weather was perfect, and the walk would be full of interest.

One would have said that he had a mind very free from care. For the
most part he stepped on at a good round pace, observing well; sometimes
he paused, as if merely to enjoy the air. He was in excellent health;
he smiled readily.

At Rottingdean he lingered for awhile. A soft mist hung all around; sky
and sea were of a delicate blurred blue-grey, the former mottled in
places. The sun was not visible, but its light lay in one long gleaming
line out on the level water; beyond, all was vapour-veiled. There were
no breakers; now and then a larger ripple than usual splashed on the
beach, and that was the only sound the sea gave. It was full tide; the
water at the foot of the cliffs was of a wonderful green, pellucid,
delicate, through which the chalk was visible, with dark masses of weed
here and t