She let down the window--a task in which he hastened to assist her.
A rush of salt, cold air swept into the compartment. He sniffed it
eagerly.

"Wonderful!" he exclaimed.

She stretched out a long arm and pointed. Away in the distance, on
the summit of a line of pebbled shore, standing, as it seemed, sheer
over the sea, was a little black speck.

"That," she said, "is the Tower."

He changed his position and leaned out of the window.

"Well, it's a queer little place," he remarked. "It doesn't look
worth quarrelling over, does it?"

"And that," she went on, directing his attention to the hill, "is
Mr. Fentolin's home, St. David's Hall."

For several moments he made no remark at all. There was something
curiously impressive in that sudden sweep up from the sea-line; the
strange, miniature mountain standing in the middle of the marshes,
with its tree-crowned background; and the long, weather-beaten front
of the house turned bravely to the sea.

"I never saw anything like it," he declared. "Why, it's barely a
quarter of a mile from the sea, isn't it?"

"A little more than that. It is a strangely situated abode, isn't