uld be sitting
there with his head bowed and the loneliness in his heart calling to
the loneliness in Paul's heart over all the miles between them. Oh, he
could never have really meant to leave Stephen.

And Nora? Nora would be down on the rocks waiting for him--for him,
Paul, who would never come to her more. He could see her elfin little
face peering around the point, watching for him wistfully.

Paul sat up in bed, choking with tears. Oh, what were books and
strange countries?--what was even Miss Trevor, the friend of a
month?--to the call of the sea and Stephen's kind, deep eyes and his
dear rock people? He could not stay away from them--never--never.

He slipped out of bed very softly and dressed in the dark. Then he
lighted the lamp timidly and opened the little brown chest Stephen had
given him. It held his books and his treasures, but he took out only a
pencil, a bit of paper and the foolscap book. With a hand shaking in
his eagerness, he wrote:

_dear miss Trever_

_Im going back home, dont be fritened about me because I know
the way. Ive got to go. something is calling me. dont be
cross. I love you, but I cant stay. Im leaving my foolscap
book for you, you can keep it always but I must go back to
Stephen and nora_

_Paul_

He put the note on the foolscap book and laid them on the table. Then
he blew out the light, took his cap and went softly out. The house was
very still. Holding his breath, he tiptoed downstairs and opened the
front door. Before it ran the street which went, he knew, straight out
to the country road that led home. Paul closed the door and stole down
the steps, his heart beating painfully, but when he reached the
sidewalk he broke into a frantic run under the limes. It was late and
no one was out on that quiet street. He ran until his breath gave
out, then walked miserably until he recovered it, and then ran again.
He dared not stop running until he was out of that horrible town,
which seemed like a prison closing around him, where the houses shut
out the stars and the wind could only creep in a narrow space like a
fettered, cringing thing, instead of sweeping grandly over great salt
wastes of sea.

At last the houses grew few and scattered, and finally he left them
behind. He drew a long breath; this was better--rather smothering yet,
of course, with nothing but hills and fields and dark woods all about
him,