shioned courtesy in his
manner that he himself was dimly aware of. He held out his hand.

'I hope you will think nothing of the kind,' said the other earnestly;
'how could it be in any sense an intrusion? It's the old story of
Bluebeard. And I confess I too should very much like a peep into his
cupboard. Who wouldn't? But there, it's merely a matter of time, I
suppose.' He paused, and together they slowly ascended the path already
glimmering with a heavy dew. At the porch they paused once more. And now
it was the stranger that held out his hand.

'Perhaps,' he said, 'you will give me the pleasure of some day
continuing our talk. As for our friend below, it so happens that I have
managed to pick up a little more of his history than the sexton seems to
have heard of--if you would care some time or other to share it. I live
only at the foot of the hill, not half a mile distant. Perhaps you could
spare the time now?'

Lawford took out his watch, 'You are really very kind,' he said. 'But,
perhaps--well, whatever that history may be, I think you would agree
that mine is even--but, there, I've talked too much about myself
already. Perhaps to-morrow?'

'Why, to-morrow, then,' said his companion. 'It's a flat wooden house,
on the left-hand side. Come at any time of the evening'; he paused again
and smiled--'the third house after the Rectory, which is marked up on
the gate. My name is Herbert--Herbert Herbert to be precise.'

Lawford took out his pocket-book and a card. 'Mine,' he said, handing
it gravely to his companion. 'is Lawford--at least...' It was really the
first time that either had seen the other's face at close quarters and
clear-lit; and on Lawford's a moon almost at the full shone
dazzlingly. He saw an expression--dismay, incredulity, overwhelming
astonishment--start suddenly into the dark, rather indifferent eyes.

'What is it?' he cried, hastily stooping close.

'Why,' said the other, laughing and turning away, 'I think the moon must
have bewitched me too.'

CHAPTER TEN

Lawford listened awhile before opening his door. He heard voices in the
dining-room. A light shone faintly between the blinds of his bedroom. He
very gently let himself in, and unheard, unseen, mounted the stairs. He
sat down in front of the fire, tired out and bitterly cold in spite
of his long walk home. But his mind was wearier even than his body. He
tried in vain to catch up the thread of his thoughts. He only knew for
certain t