was aware.
Yet what precise form would that soul torture take?

He put the query aside. He dared not face it. Once, lying wide-eyed in
the darkness, gazing through the small square of his window at the
star-powdered sky without, an odd smile had twisted his lips. Pain,
bodily pain, had at one time been his close companion for weeks, he had
then fancied he had known once and for all the worst of her torments. He
knew now that her dealings with the body are quite extraordinarily light
in comparison to her dealings with the mind. And this was only
anticipation.

* * * * *

One Saturday afternoon he started off for a walk on a hitherto untried
route. It was in a direction entirely opposite to Woodleigh, which he now
wished to avoid.

Half an hour's walking brought him to a wide expanse of moorland, as
lonely a spot as can well be imagined. Behind him lay Byestry and the
sea; to his left, also, lay the sea, since the coast took a deep turn
northwards about three miles or so to the west of Byestry; to the right,
and far distant, lay Woodleigh. Before him was the moorland, covered with
heather and gorse bushes. About half a mile distant it descended in a
gentle decline, possibly to some hidden village below, since a broadish
grass path, or species of roadway bearing wheel tracts, showed that,
despite its present loneliness, it was at times traversed by human
beings.

Antony sat down by a gorse bush, whose golden flowers were scenting the
air with a sweet aromatic scent. Mingling with their scent was the scent
of thyme and heather, and the hot scent of the sunbaked earth. Bees
boomed lazily in the still air, and far off was the faint melodious note
of the ever-moving sea. The sun was hot and the droning of the bees
drowsy in its insistence. After a few moments Antony stretched himself
comfortably on the heather, and slept.

A slight sound roused him, and he sat up, for the first moment barely
realizing his whereabouts. Then he saw the source of the sound which had
awakened him. Coming along the grass path, and not fifty paces from him,
was a small pony and trap, driven by a woman. Antony looked towards it,
and, as he looked, he felt his heart jump, leap, and set off pounding at
a terrible rate.

In two minutes the trap was abreast him, and the little Dartmoor pony was
brought to a sudden standstill. Antony had got to his feet.

"Mr. Gray," exclaimed an astonished voice, though