nd dark and sombre,
watching over the lighted town and listening patiently to the ripple
and murmur and life of the sea at their feet. In the little inn at the
Cove men were sitting over the roaring fire, telling tales--strange,
weird stories of a life that these others did not know. Harry had
heard them when he was a boy--those stories--and he had felt the spell
and the magic. There had been life in them and romance.

Perhaps they were there again to-night, just as they had been twenty
years before. The stars called to him, the lighted town, the dusky,
softly breathing sea, the loneliness of the moor. He must get out and
away. He must have sympathy and warmth and friendship; he had come
back to his own people with open arms and they had no place for him.
His own son had repulsed him. But Cornwall, the country of his dreams,
the mother of his faith, the guardian of his honour, was there--the
same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. He would search for her and
would find her--even though it were on the red-brick floor of the
tavern in the Cove.

He turned round and found that the room was empty. They had forgotten
him and left him--without a word. The light of the lamp caught the
silver of the tea-things, and flashed and sparkled like a flame.

Harry Trojan softly opened the door, passed into the dim twilight of
the hall, picked up his hat, and stepped into the garden.

CHAPTER V

As he felt the crunch of the gravel beneath his feet he was possessed
with the spirit of adventure. The dark house behind him had been
holding him captive. It had held him against his will, imprisoning
him, tormenting him, and the tortures that he had endured were many and
severe. He had not known that he could have felt it so much--that
absolute rejection of him by everything in which he had trusted; but he
would mind these things no longer--he would even try not to mind Robin!
That would be hard, and as he thought of it even now for a moment tears
had filled his eyes. That, however, was cowardice. He must fling away
the hopes of twenty years and start afresh, with the knowledge won of
his experience and the strength that he had snatched from his wounds.

And after all a man was a fool to mope and whine when that wind from
the sea was beating in his ears and the sea scents of clover and
poppies and salt stinging foam were brought to his nostrils, and the
trees rustled like the beating of birds' wings in the velvety
sta