appealed as strongly as the crying of a child. He
glanced over his shoulder. The place was deserted. Then he deliberately
dropped his cigarette-case over the wall and exclaimed: "Confound it!"

The prone figure on the shingle rolled over and sat up.

"Hullo!" said Cheveril.

There was a distinct pause before a voice replied: "Hullo! What's the
matter?"

"I've dropped my cigarette-case," said Cheveril. "Beastly careless of
me!"

Again there was a pause. Then the man below him stumbled to his feet.

"I've got a match," he said. "I'll see if I can find it."

"Don't trouble," said Cheveril politely. "The steps are close by."

He walked away at an easy pace and descended to the beach. The flicker
of a match guided him to the searcher. As he drew near, the light went
out, and the young man turned to meet him.

"Here it is," he said gruffly.

"Many thanks!" said Cheveril. "It's so confoundedly dark to-night. I
scarcely expected to see it again."

The other muttered an acknowledgment, and stood prepared to depart.

Cheveril, however, paused in a conversational attitude. He had not
risked his property for nothing.

"A pretty little place, this," he said. "I suppose you are a visitor
here like myself?"

"I'm leaving to-morrow," was the somewhat grudging rejoinder.

"I only came this afternoon," said Cheveril. "Is there anything to see
here?"

"There's the sea and the lighthouse," his companion told him
curtly--"nothing else."

Cheveril smiled faintly to himself in the darkness.

"Try one of these cigarettes," he said sociably. "I don't enjoy smoking
alone."

He was aware, as his unknown friend accepted the offer, that he would
have infinitely preferred to refuse.

"Been here long?" he asked him, as they plunged through the shingle
towards the sand.

"I've lived here nearly all my life," was the reply. And, after a
moment, as if the confidence would not be repressed: "I'm leaving
now--for good."

"Ah!" said Cheveril sympathetically. "It's pretty beastly when you come
to turn out. I've done it, and I know."

"It's infernal," said the other gloomily, and relapsed into silence.

"Going abroad?" Cheveril ventured presently.

"Yes. Going to the other side of the world." Surliness had given place
to depression in the boy's voice. Sympathy, albeit from an unknown
quarter, moved him to confidence. "But it isn't that I mind," he said, a
moment later. "I should be ready enough to clear out if it weren't
fo