ide-pocket where he had himself put it. Unripping a corner of the vest
lining, he took out two five-pound notes, and with these in a rough
leather purse for immediate use, and his stout ash stick grasped firmly
in his hand, he started out to walk to the top of the coombe where he
knew the path brought him to the verge of the highroad leading to
Minehead. As he moved almost on tip-toe through Mary's garden, now all
fragrant with golden wall-flowers, lilac, and mayblossom, he paused a
moment,--looking up at the picturesque gabled eaves and latticed
windows. A sudden sense of loneliness affected him almost to tears. For
now he had not even the little dog Charlie with him to console him--that
canine friend slept in a cushioned basket in Mary's room, and was
therefore all unaware that his master was leaving him.

"But, please God, I shall come back in a day or two!" he murmured. "
Please God, I shall see this dear shrine of peace and love again before
I die! Meanwhile--good-bye, Mary! Good-bye, dearest and kindest of
women! God bless you!"

He turned away with an effort--and, lifting the latch of the garden
gate, opened it and closed it softly behind him. Then he began the
ascent of the coombe. Not a soul was in sight,--the actual day had not
yet begun. The hill torrent flowed along with a subdued purling sound
over the rough stones and pebbles,--there had been little rain of late
and the water was shallow, though clear and bright enough to gleam like
a wavering silver ribbon in the dimness of the early morning,--and as he
followed it upward and finally reached a point from whence the open sea
was visible he rested a moment, leaning on his stick and looking
backward on the way he had come. Strangely beautiful and mystical was
the scene his eyes dwelt upon,--or rather perhaps it should be said that
he saw it in a somewhat strange and mystical fashion of his own. There,
out beyond the furthest edge of land, lay the ocean, shadowed just now
by a delicate dark grey mist, which, like a veil, covered its placid
bosom,--a mist which presently the rising sun would scatter with its
glorious rays of gold;--here at his feet nestled Weircombe,--a cluster
of simple cottages, sweetly adorned by nature with her fairest
garlanding of springtime flowers,--and behind him, just across a length
of barren moor, was the common highroad leading to the wider, busier
towns. And he thought as he stood alone,--a frail and solitary figure,
gazing drea