ng for the shore,
with the greatest apparent unconcern and deliberation.

And whilst Sir Adrian, alone in his chamber, with his head resting
upon his hand, anxiously pondered upon the possible issues of this
nefarious day's doings, the sailor advanced, in broad daylight towards
the land to keep his appointment.

* * * * *

A solitary speck of life upon the great waste, with the consciousness
of the precarious thread of chance upon which it hung! What wonder
that, for all his daring, the traveller felt, as he deliberately
regulated his pace to the most nonchalant gait, a frantic desire to
run forward, or to lie down! How many approach glasses might now be
laid, like so many guns, upon him from secret points of the coast
until he came within range of recognition; what ambushes those clumps
of gorse and juniper, those plantations of alders and young firs on
the bluffs yonder, might conceal? The eye could reach far and wide
upon the immense stretch of sand, along the desert coast; and his
solitary figure, moving upon the yellow strand was a mark for miles
around. Steadily, nevertheless did he advance; the very daring, the
unpardonable foolhardiness of the deed his safety. And yet the strain
was high. Were they watching the island? Among the eager crew, to each
of whom the capture might mean a splendid prize and chance of
promotion, was there one would have the genius of suddenly suspecting
that this foolhardy wayfarer might be the man they wanted and not
merely Sir Adrian returning on foot towards his home?... And then came
the answer of hopeful youth and hardy courage----.

No. The preventive are a lubberly lot--It will require something
better than a water-guard to track and take Lucky Jack Smith!

* * * * *

But for all his assurance Lucky Jack Smith drew a long breath of
relief when he felt the shadow of Pulwick woods closing around him at
last.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE DAY: NOON

There stood two men and they did point their fingers at that house.
And on his finger one had blood; the other's finger shook.

_Luteplayer's Song._

Broken lengths of wall, a crumbling indication of the spring of once
exquisite arches, windows gaping darkly like the eye sockets of a
skull--this was all that was left of the old priory of Pulwick, whilom
proud seat of clerical power and learning. But the image of decay was
robbed of all melancholy by the l