ling through a bank of clouds; the wind was
whistling over their heads.

Bethel suddenly stopped and turned towards Harry. "Mr. Trojan," he
said, "I'm going to be impulsive and perhaps imprudent. There's
nothing an Englishman fears so much as impulse, and he is terribly
ashamed of imprudence. But, after all, there is no time to waste, and
if you think me impertinent you have only to say so, and the matter
ends."

Harry laughed. "I am delighted," he began, but the other stopped him.

"No, wait a moment. You don't know. I'm afraid you'll think that I'm
absurd--most people will tell you that I am worse. I want you to try
to be a friend of mine, at any rate to give me a chance. I scarcely
know you--you don't know me at all--but; one goes on first impressions,
and I believe that you would understand a little better than most of
these people here--for one thing you have gone farther and seen
more----"

There was a little pause. Harry was surprised. Here was what he had
been wanting--friendship; a week ago he would have seized it with both
hands; now he was a little distrustful; a week ago it would have been
natural, delightful; now it was unusual, even a little absurd.

"I should be very glad," he said gravely. "I--scarcely----"

"Oh," Bethel broke in, "we shall come together naturally--there's no
fear of that. I could see at once that you know the mysteries of this
place just as I do. Those others here are blind. I've been waiting
for some one who would understand. But I don't want you to listen to
those other people about me; they will tell you a good deal--and most
of it's true. I don't blame 'em, but I'm curiously anxious for you not
to think with them. It's ridiculous, I know, when I had never seen you
before. If you only knew how long I'd been waiting--to talk to some
one--about--all this."

He waved his hand and they stopped. They were standing on the moor.
Above their head mighty grey clouds were driving like fleets before the
wind, and the moon, a cold, lifeless thing, a moon of chiselled marble,
appeared, and then, as though frightened at the wild flight of the
clouds, vanished. The sea, pearl grey, lay like mist on the horizon,
and its voice was gentle and tired, as though it were slowly dying into
sleep. They were near the Four Stones--gaunt, grey, and old. The dog
had followed Harry from the inn and now ran, a white shadow, in front
of him.

"Let me tell you," Bethel said, "about m