the stream, set back about thirty paces from the
brink, stood a granite boulder. It was as high as a man's chest, roughly
cubical in shape; but the weather and clinging moss had rounded its
edges, and in places segments had crumbled away, giving foothold to
clumps of fern and starry moor-flowers. On three sides the surrounding
ground rose steeply, forming an irregular horseshoe mound that opened to
the west. Perhaps it was the queer amphitheatrical effect of this
setting that connected up some whimsical train of thought in Maynard's
brain.

"It would seem as if the gods had claimed you," he mused, still holding
the corpse. "You shall be a sacrifice--a burnt sacrifice to the God of
Waste Places."

He laughed at the conceit, half-ashamed of his own childishness, and
crossing the stream by some boulders, he brushed away the earth and weed
from the top of the great stone. Then he retraced his steps and gathered
a handful of bleached twigs that the winter floods had left stranded
along the margin of the stream. These he arranged methodically on the
cleared space; on the top of the tiny pyre he placed the troutlet.

"There!" he said, and smiling gravely struck a match. A faint column of
smoke curled up into the still air, and as he spoke the lower rim of the
setting sun met the edge of the moor. The evening seemed suddenly to
become incredibly still, even the voice of the stream ceasing to be a
sound distinct. A wagtail bobbing in the shallows fled into the waste.
Overhead the smoke trembled upwards, a faint stain against a cloudless
sky. The stillness seemed almost acute. It was as if the moor were
waiting, and holding its breath while it waited. Then the twigs upon his
altar crackled, and the pale flames blazed up. The man stepped back with
artistic appreciation of the effect.

"To be really impressive, there ought to be more smoke," he continued.

Round the base of the stone were clumps of small flowers. They were
crimson in colour and had thick, fleshy leaves. Hastily, he snatched a
handful and piled it on the fire. The smoke darkened and rose in a thick
column; there was a curious pungency in the air.

Far off the church-bell in some unseen hamlet struck the hour. The
distant sound, coming from the world of men and every-day affairs,
seemed to break the spell. An ousel fluttered across the stream and
dabbled in a puddle among some stones. Rabbits began to show themselves
and frisk with lengthened shadows in the cl