the hall.

"You'll know him soon," she went on, "the kindest man in these
parts, they say. It's not much that he gives away, but he's a kind
heart. You see that great post at the entrance to the river there?"
she went on, pointing to it. "He had that set up and a lamp hung
from there. Fentolin's light, they call it. It was to save men's
lives. It was burning, they say, the night I lost my lads.
Fentolin's light!"

"They were wrecked?" he asked her gently.

"Wrecked," she answered. "Bad steering it must have been. James
would steer, and they say that he drank a bit. Bad steering! Yes,
you'll meet Squire Fentolin before long. He's queer to look at--a
small body but a great, kind heart. A miserable life, his, but it
will be made up to him. It will be made up to him!"

She turned away. Her lips were moving all the time. She walked
about a dozen steps, and then she returned.

"You're Hamel's son, the painter," she said. "You'll be welcome
down here. He'll have you to stay at the Hall--a brave place.
Don't let him be too kind to you. Sometimes kindness hurts."

She passed on, walking with a curious, shambling gait, and soon she
disappeared on her way to the village. Hamel watched her for a
moment and then turned his head towards St. David's Hall. He felt
somehow that her abrupt departure was due to something which she
had seen in that direction. He rose to his feet. His instinct had