seaweeds, fragments of timber, the flotsam and jetsam of the sea. The
creek where the man's body was lying was forty yards above this. Yet on
such a night who could say where those great breakers, driven in by the
wind as well as by their own mighty force, might not have cast their
prey? Within a few yards of him was a jagged mass of timber. The cause
of those wounds would be obvious enough. I felt the ring in my
waistcoat pocket--it was there, safely enough hidden, and I looked
toward the lodge. As yet there were no signs of John or the cart.

But behind me, coming from the village, I heard the sound of light and
rapid footsteps. I turned my head. It was Blanche Moyat,
short-skirted, a stick in her hand, a feather stuck through her
Tam-o'-Shanter.

"Good-morning," she cried out heartily; "I've been to call at your
cottage."

"Very kind of you," I answered, hesitatingly. Miss Moyat was
good-hearted, but a little overpowering--and in certain moods she
reminded me of her father.

"Oh, I had an errand," she explained, laughing. "Father said if I saw
you I was to say that he has to call on the Duke this afternoon, and,
if you liked, he would explain about your lecture last night, and try
and get the village hall for you for nothing. The Duke is very
good-natured, and if he knows that he spoilt your evening, father thinks
he might let you have it for nothing."

"It is very kind of your father," I answered. "I do not think that I
shall ever give that lecture again."