a few minutes later, her shawl
wrapped around her, ready for departure.

"I shall be here at seven o'clock in the morning, sir," she announced.

Hamel was a little startled. He withdrew the pip from his mouth and
looked at her.

"Why, of course," he remarked. "I'd forgotten. There is no place for you
to stay here."

"I shall go back to my brother's." she said.

Hamel put some money upon the table.

"Please get anything that is necessary," he directed. "I shall leave you
to do the housekeeping for a few days."

"Shall you be staying here long, sir?" she asked.

"I am not sure," he replied.

"I do not suppose," she said, "that you will stay for very long. I shall
get only the things that you require from day to day. Good night, sir."

She left the room. Hamel looked after her for a moment with a frown. In
some indescribable way, the woman half impressed, half irritated him.
She had always the air of keeping something in the background. He
followed her out on to the little ridge of beach, a few minutes after
she had left. The mist was still drifting about. Only a few yards away
the sea rolled in, filling the air with dull thunder. The marshland was
half obscured. St. David's Hall was invisible, but like strangely-hung
lanterns in an empty space he saw the line of lights from the great
house gleam through the obscurity. There was no sound save the sound of
the sea. He shivered slightly. It was like an empty land, this.

Then, moved by some instinct of curiosity, he made his way round to
the closed door of the boat-house, only to find it, as he had expected,
locked. He shook it slightly, without result. Then he strolled round
to the back, entered his own little abode by the kitchen, and tried the
other door which led into the boat-house. It was not only locked, but
a staple had been put in, and it was fastened with a padlock of curious
design which he did not remember to have seen there before. Again, half
unconsciously, he listened, and again he found the silence oppressive.
He went back to his room, brought out some of the books which it had
been his intention to study, and sat and read over the fire.

At ten o'clock he went to bed. As he threw open his window before
undressing, it seemed to him that he could catch the sound of voices
from the sea. He listened intently. A grey pall hung everywhere. To
the left, with strange indistinctness, almost like something human
struggling to assert itself, came the fitf