south. Brendon's rare sight could still
distinguish Saltash Bridge spanning the waters above Plymouth, where
Cornwall heaved up against the dying afterglow of the west. It was a
wonderful place in which to dwell, and the detective speculated as
to the sort of people who would be likely to lift their home in this
silent wilderness.

He guessed that they must have wearied of cities, or of their fellow
creatures. Perhaps they were disappointed and disillusioned with
life and so desired to turn their backs upon its gregarious
features, evade its problems, as far as possible, escape its shame
and follies, and live here amid these stern realities which promised
nothing, yet were full of riches for a certain order of mankind. He
judged that the couple, who designed to dwell beside the silent
hollow of Foggintor, must have outlived much and reached an attitude
of mind that desired no greater boon than solitude in the lap of
nature. Such people could only be middle-aged, he told himself. Yet
he remembered the big man had said that the pair felt "love was
enough." That meant romance still active and alive, whatever their
ages might be.

The day grew very dim and the fret of light and shadow died off the
earth, leaving all vague and vast and featureless. Brendon returned
to his sport and found a small "coachman" fly sufficiently
destructive. The two pools yielded a dozen trout, of which he kept
six and returned the rest to the water. His best three fish all
weighed half a pound.

Resolved to pay the pools another visit, Mark made an end of his
sport and chose to return by road rather than venture the walk over
the rough moor in darkness. He left the quarry at the gap, passed
the half dozen cottages that stood a hundred yards beyond it, and
so, presently, regained the main road between Princetown and
Tavistock. Tramping back under the stars, his thoughts drifted to
the auburn girl of the moor. He was seeking to recollect how she had
been dressed. He remembered everything about her with extraordinary
vividness, from the crown of her glowing hair to her twinkling feet,
in brown shoes with steel or silver buckles; but he could not
instantly see her garments. Then they came back to him--the
rose-coloured jumper and the short, silvery skirts.

Twice afterward, during the evening hour, Brendon again tramped to
Foggintor, but he was not rewarded by any glimpse of the girl; but
as the picture of her dimmed a little, there happened a