He walked across the road to the car with his sister and daughter. The men
by the cross followed. They were his brother, his brother's son, his
sister's husband, and the local doctor, whose name was Ravenshaw. With a
clang and a hoot the car started on the return journey. The winding
cobbled street of the churchtown was soon left behind for a road which
struck across the lonely moors to the sea. Through the moors and stony
hills the car sped until it drew near a solitary house perched on the edge
of the dark cliffs high above the tumbling waters of the yeasty sea which
foamed at their base.

The car stopped by the gate where the moor road ended. The mourners
alighted and entered the gate. Their approach was observed from within,
for as they neared the house the front door was opened by an elderly
man-servant with a brown and hawk-beaked face.

Walking rapidly ahead Robert Turold led the way into a front sitting-room
lighted by a window overlooking the sea. There was an air of purpose in
his movements, but an appearance of strain in his careworn face and
twitching lips. He glanced at the others in a preoccupied way, but started
perceptibly as his eye fell upon his daughter.

"There is no need for you to remain, Sisily," he said in a harsh dry
voice.

Sisily turned away without speaking. Her cousin Charles jumped up to open
the door, and the two exchanged a glance as she went out. The young man
then returned to his seat near the window. Robert Turold was speaking
emphatically to Dr. Ravenshaw, answering some objection which the doctor
had raised.