go on talking with the fisherman, as his
mental recurrence about Shakespeare had fidgeted him, and he found
speech a relief. But some noisy visitors from the new St. Sennans
on the cliff above had made an irruption into the little old
fishing-quarter, and the attention of the net-mender was distracted
by possibilities of a boat-to-day being foisted on their simplicity;
it was hardly rough enough to forbid the idea. Fenwick, therefore,
sauntered on towards the jetty, but presently turned to go back, as
half his time had elapsed.

As he repassed the net-mender with a short word or two for
valediction, his ear was caught by a loud voice among the party of
visitors, who were partly sitting on the beach, partly throwing
stones in the water. Something familiar about that voice, surely!

"I gannod throw stoanss. I am too vat. I shall sit on the peach and
see effrypotty else throw stoanss. I shall smoke another cigar. Will
you haff another cigar, Mr. Prown? You will not? Ferry well! Nor you,
Mrs. Prown? Not for the worlt? Ferry well! Nor you, Mr. Bilkington?
Ferry well! I shall haff one myself, and you shall throw stoanss."
And then, as though to remove the slightest doubt about the identity
of the speaker, the voice broke into song:

"Ich hatt' einen Kameraden,
Einen bessern findst du nicht--"

but ended on "Mein guter Kamerad," exclaiming stentorianly, "Opleitch
me with a madge," and lighting his cigar in spite of his companions'
indignation at the music stopping.

Fenwick stood hesitating a moment in doubt what to do. His inclination
was to go straight down the beach to his old friend, whom--of course,
you understand?--he now remembered quite well, and explain the strange
circumstances that had rendered their meeting in Switzerland abortive.
But then!--what would the effect be on his present life, in his
relation to Rosalind and (almost as important) to Sally? Diedrich
Kreutzkammer had been, for some time in California, a most intimate
friend. Fenwick had made him the confidant of his marriage and his
early life, all that he had since forgotten, and he had it now in his
power to recover all this from the past. Strange to say, although he
could remember the telling of these things, he could only remember
weak, confused snatches of what he told. It was unaccountable--but
there!--he could not try to unravel that skein now. He must settle,
and promptly, whether to speak to the Baron or to run.

He was not long in com