and the spinster innkeepers applauded his feat. They stood
around and rejoiced at his eating, and again they told him in chorus
that he must not go to the other island where the people were sick.

It was just then that a great knock came at the front door; the loudness
of the wind had silenced the approaching footsteps. A square-built,
smooth-faced man, well wrapped in a coat of ox fur, came into the house,
asking for Caius Simpson by name. His face was one which it was
impossible to see without remarking the lines of subtle intelligence
displayed in its leathery wrinkles. The eyes were light blue, very
quick, almost merry--and yet not quite, for if there was humour in them,
it was of the kind that takes its pleasures quietly; there was no
proneness to laughter in the hard-set face.

When Caius heard his own name spoken, he knew that something unexpected
had happened, for no one upon the island had asked his name, and he had
not given it.

The stranger, who, from his accent, appeared to be a Canadian of Irish
parentage, said, in a few curt words, that he had a cart outside, and
was going to drive at once to Cloud Island, that he wished to take the
young doctor with him; for death, he observed, was not sitting idle
eating his dinner at The Cloud, and if anyone was coming to do battle
with him it would be as well to come quickly.

The sarcasm nettled Caius, first, because he felt himself to be caught
napping; secondly, because he knew he was innocent.

The elder of the spinsters had got behind the stranger, and she
intimated by signs and movements of the lips that the stranger was
unknown, and therefore mysterious, and not to be trusted; and so quickly
was this pantomime performed that it was done before Caius had time to
speak, although he was under the impression that he rose with alacrity
to explain to the newcomer that he would go with him at once.

The warning that the old maid gave resulted at least in some cautious
questioning. Caius asked the stranger who he was, and if he had come
from The Cloud that day.

As to who he was, the man replied that his name was John O'Shea, and he
was the man who worked the land of Madame Le Maitre. "One does not go
and come from Cloud Island in one day at this season," said he. "'Tis
three days ago since I came. I've been waiting up at the parson's for
the schooner. To-day we're going back together, ye and me."

He was sparing of language. He shut his mouth over the short se