another. They were
standing on the cliff where he had first met her, and one of them was
going upon a long journey, though he was not sure which.

In the towns men laugh at dreams, but away from civilisation we listen
more readily to the strange tales that Nature whispers to us. Charles
Seabohn recollected this dream when he awoke in the morning.

"She is dying," he said, "and she has come to wish me good-bye."

He made up his mind to return to England at once; perhaps if he made
haste he would be in time to kiss her. But he could not start that day,
for work was to be done; and Charles Seabohn, lover though he still was,
had grown to be a man, and knew that work must not be neglected even
though the heart may be calling. So for a day or two he stayed, and on
the third night he dreamed of Mivanway again, and this time she lay
within the little chapel at Bristol where, on Sunday mornings, he had
often sat with her. He heard her father's voice reading the burial
service over her, and the sister she had loved best was sitting beside
him, crying softly. Then Charles knew that there was no need for him to
hasten. So he remained to finish his work. That done, he would return
to England. He would like again to stand upon the cliffs, above the
little Cornish village, where they had first met.

Thus a few months later Charles Seabohn, or Charles Denning, as he called
himself, aged and bronzed, not easily recognisable by those who had not
known him well, walked into the Cromlech Arms, as six years before he had
walked in with his knapsack on his back, and asked for a room, saying he
would be stopping in the village for a short while.

In the evening he strolled out and made his way to the cliffs. It was
twilight when he reached the place of rocks to which the fancy-loving
Cornish folk had given the name of the Witches' Cauldron. It was from
this spot that he had first watched Mivanway coming to him from the sea.

He took the pipe from his mouth, and leaning against a rock, whose rugged
outline seemed fashioned into the face of an old friend, gazed down the
narrow pathway now growing indistinct in the dim light. And as he gazed
the figure of Mivanway came slowly up the pathway from the sea, and
paused before him.

He felt no fear. He had half expected it. Her coming was the complement
of his dreams. She looked older and graver than he remembered her, but
for that the face was the sweeter.

He wondered if she