could be no mistake about it."

Stephen Hurd mounted his cob and turned its head towards home. He asked
no more questions; he seemed, if possible, graver than ever. Before he
started, however, he pointed with his whip towards the shelter.

"You've no right there, you know," he said. "We can't allow it. You must
clear out at once."

"Very well," Macheson answered. "I'm trespassing, of course, but one
must sleep somewhere."

"There is no necessity for you to remain in Thorpe at all," Hurd said.
"I think, in the circumstances, the best thing you can do is to go."

"In the circumstances!" The irony of the phrase struck home. What did
this young man know of the circumstances? There were reasons now,
indeed, why he should fly from Thorpe as from a place stricken with the
pestilence. But no other soul in this world could know of those reasons
save himself--and she.

"I should not, of course, think of holding my services at present,"
Macheson said gravely. "If you think it would be better, I will go
away."

Stephen Hurd nodded as he cantered off.

"I am glad to hear you say so," he declared shortly. "Go and preach in
the towns where this scum is reared. There's plenty of work for
missioners there."

Macheson stood still until the young man on his pony had disappeared.
Then he turned round and walked slowly back towards the slate quarry.
The black waters remained smooth and unrippled; there was no sound of
human movement anywhere. In the adjoining field a harvesting-machine was
at work; in the spinney itself the rabbits, disturbed last night by the
storm, were scurrying about more frolicsome than usual; a solitary
thrush was whistling in the background. The sunlight lay in crooked
beams about the undergrowth, a gentle west breeze was just stirring the
foliage overhead. There was nothing in the air to suggest in any way the
strange note of tragedy which the coming of this hunted man had
nevertheless brought.

Macheson was turning away when a slight disturbance in the undergrowth
on the other side of the quarry attracted his notice. He stood still and
watched the spot. The bracken was shaking slightly--then the sound of a
dry twig, suddenly snapped! For a moment he hesitated. Then he turned on
his heel and walked abruptly away. With almost feverish haste, he flung
his few belongings into his portmanteau, leaving in the shelter his
flask, a suit of clothes, and several trifles. Five minutes later he was
on his way dow