of the sea, and lit up the white wavelets that were breaking on the
beach. The new day struck upon him with a strange sense of wonder.
Where was he? Whither had gone the wild visions of the night, the
feverish dread, the horrible forebodings? The strong mental emotion
that had driven him out now produced its natural reaction: he looked
about in a dazed fashion at the revelation of light around him, and
felt himself trembling with weakness. Slowly, blindly and hopelessly
he set to walk back across the island, with the sunlight of the fresh
morning calling into life ten thousand audible things of the moorland
around him.

And who was this who stood at the porch of the house in the clear
sunshine? Not the pale and ghastly creature who had haunted him during
those wild hours, but Sheila herself, singing some snatches of a song,
and engaged in watering the two bushes of sweetbrier at the gate. How
bright and roseate and happy she looked, with the fine color of her
face lit up by the fresh sunlight, and the brisk breeze from the sea
stirring now and again the loose masses of her hair! Haggard and faint
as he was, he would have startled her if he had gone up to her then.
He dared not approach her. He waited until she had gone round to the
gable of the house to water the plants there, and then he stole into
the house and up stairs, and threw himself upon the bed. And outside
he still heard Sheila singing lightly to herself as she went about her
ordinary duties, little thinking in how strange and wild a drama her
wraith had that night taken part.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

[Footnote 12: Pronounced _Argyud-chark_; literally, "hen-money."]