erence that those
inhabitants of "down-along" pay to those darkly mysterious figures.
Seen in the fading light of the dying day, when Cornish mists are
winding and twisting over the breast of the moor, these four rocks seem
to take a living shape, to grow in size, and to whisper to those that
care to hear old stories of the slaughter that had stained the soil at
their feet on an earlier day.

From Harry's windows the town and the sea were hidden. Immediately
below him lay the tennis-lawns and the rose-garden, and, gleaming in
the distance, at the end of the Long Walk, two white statues that had
fascinated him in his boyhood.

His first waking thought on the morning after his arrival was to look
for those statues, and when he saw them gleaming in the sun just as
they used to do, there swept over him a feeling of youth and vigour
such as he had never known before. Those twenty years in New Zealand
were, after all, to go for nothing; they were to be as though they had
had no existence, and he was to be the young energetic man of
twenty-five, able to enter into his son's point of view, able to share
his life and vitality, and, at the same time, to give him the benefit
of his riper experience.

Through his open window came the faint, distant beating of the sea; a
bird flew past him, a white flash of light; some one was singing the
refrain of a Cornish "chanty"--the swing of the tune came up to him
from the garden, and some of the words beat like little bells upon his
brain, calling up endless memories of his boyhood.

He looked at his watch and found that it was nine o'clock. He had no
idea that it was so late; he had asked to be called at seven, but he
had slept so soundly that he had not heard his man enter with his
shaving water; it was quite cold now, and his razors were terribly
blunt. He cut himself badly, a thing that he scarcely ever did. But
it was really unfortunate, on this first morning when he had wanted
everything to be at its best.

He came down to the breakfast-room humming. The house seemed a palace
of gold on this wonderful September morning; the light came in floods
through the great windows at the head of the stairs, and shafts of
golden light struck the walls and the china potpourri bowls and flashed
wonderful colours out of a great Venetian vase that stood by the hall
door.

He found Garrett and Robin breakfasting alone; Clare and Sir Jeremy
always had breakfast in their own rooms.

"I'm