arose and went towards his master. The shadow of the dune disguised the
slightness of his form, and his foot struck with some violence against a
shell. The lightning flashed, and he saw Ferne's waiting face.

"Master, master!" he cried. "'Tis only Robin,--not him! not him!
Master--"

Stumbling over the sand, he fell beside the man whose soul cried in
vain unto Robert Baldry to return and claim his vengeance, and wrenched
at the hand that seemed to have grown to the sword-hilt. "You are not
kind!" he wailed. "Oh, let me have it!"

"Kind!" echoed Ferne, slowly. "In this sick universe there is no
kindness--no, nor never was! There is the space between rack and torch."
In the flashing of the lightning he loosed his rigid clasp, and the
sword, clanking against the scabbard, fell upon the sand. The lightning
widened into a sheet of pale violet and the surf broke with a deeper
voice. "Canst thou not find me, O mine enemy?" cried Ferne, aloud.

Presently, the boy yet clinging to him, he sank down beside him on the
sand. "Sleep, boy; sleep," he said. "Now I know that the gulf is fixed
indeed, and that they lie who say the ghost returns."

"It is near the dawning," said the boy. "Do you rest, master, and I will
watch."

"Nay," answered the other. "I have pictures to look upon.... Well, well,
lay thy head upon the sand and dream of a merry world, and I myself
will close my eyes. An he will, he may take me sleeping."