beauty; and the lake that reflected the trees and the sky was deadly
still, with a brooding, waiting stillness. Hartley stopped as he went
towards the further gates of the park, and watched the glassy
reflections with troubled eyes. No breeze touched the woods into
movement, and the long, yellow bars of evening light were full of dim
stillness. The very lifelessness of it affected Hartley strangely.
Except where, here and there, a flash of the low sunset caught the
water, the whole prospect was motionless, and he stood like a man
spellbound by the mystery of its silence.

Hartley had chosen the less frequented road through the Park, and there
was no one in sight when he had stopped to look at the pale sheet of
water with its mirrored reproduction of tree and sky. It held him
strangely, and he felt a curious tension of his nerves, as though
something was going to happen. The thought came, as such thoughts do
come, out of nowhere in particular, and yet Hartley waited with a sense
of discomfort.

When he turned away angry at his own momentary folly, he stooped and
picked up a stone and threw it into the motionless beauty of the water,
breaking it into a quick splash, marring the clearness, and confusing
the straight, low band of gold cloud which broke under the widening
circles. As he stooped, a man had come into sight, walking with a slow,
heavy step, his eyes on the ground and his head bent. He came on with
dragging feet and a dull, mechanical walk, the walk of a man who is
tired in body and soul. He did not look at the lake, nor did he even see
Hartley, who turned towards him at once with sudden relief.

When Hartley hailed him cheerfully, Joicey stopped dead and looked up,
staring at him as though he were an apparition. He took off his hat and