a hundred years old. You
know Hawthorne?"

"I ought to."

"Well, once upon a time the village was called France. But during the
Napoleonic wars the name was changed. For obvious reasons."

"And they forgot to alter this?" said Anthony, nodding at the cracked
grey wood.

Valerie shook her head.

"No one would do the work. You know they used to bury suicides at the
cross-roads? Well, one was buried here. That was when--when the post
was set up...."

A little shiver accompanied her words.

"I see," said Anthony. "The body was staked, wasn't it? What a
barbarous old world it was! I don't wonder they were afraid of the
place."

"It's supposed to have been an old usurer who came from these parts and
had ruined all sorts of people in his time."

"And why did he kill himself?" said Anthony.

"I forget. There was some mystery about it. I remember an old, old
shepherd telling me some of the tale, when I was a little girl, and my
nurse came up in the middle and scolded him and snatched me away."

"Quite right, too," said Anthony. "And if she was here now, History
would probably repeat itself." With a sweep of his arm he indicated
the country-side. "Was this your nursery?"

Valerie nodded.

"In the summer." She hesitated. "I'll show you my window, if you
like. It's the best part of a mile, though."

Anthony laughed and turned to summon his terrier.

"Patch and I," he said, "have at least one afternoon a week. As long
as I'm back in time to lay the table...."

A moment later he was stepping along by her side.

It had not occurred to him to ask what "her window" might be. If she
had offered to show him the mouth of hell, he would have assented as
blindly. Whither he went and what he saw did not matter at all, so he
was to be in her company. All the same, his instinct pulled him by the
sleeve. Hazily he reflected that to retrace such steps as you have
taken along the path of Love is a bad business, and that the farther
you have elected to venture, so much the more distressing must be your
return. And he would have to return. In the absence of a miracle,
that journey could not be avoided. For an instant the spectre of
Reckoning leaned out of the future.... Then Patch flushed a stray pig,
and Valerie laughed joyously, and--the shadow was gone. Cost what it
might, Anthony determined to pluck the promise of the afternoon with an
unsparing hand.

He had walked in the direction of Bell Ha