he always destroyed at last on some pointed pinnacle. And now that he
came to think of it, Eustace vaguely recollected he had always seen
St. Michael, in pictures or stained glass windows, delineated just so
--with drawn sword and warrior's mien--in the act of triumphing over
his dragon-like enemy on the airy summit of some tall jagged crag or
rock-bound precipice.

As for Mrs. Trevennack, she watched her husband every moment he spoke
with a close and watchful care, which Le Neve hardly noticed, but
which didn't for a minute escape Walter Tyrrel's more piercing and
observant scrutiny.

At last, as the amateur lecturer was beginning to grow somewhat
prolix, a cormorant below created a slight diversion for awhile by
settling in his flight on the very highest point of Michael's Crag,
and proceeding to preen his glittering feathers in the full golden
flood of that bright August sunlight.

With irrepressible boyish instinct Le Neve took up a stone, and was
just on the point of aiming it (quite without reason) at the bird on
the pinnacle.

But before he could let it go, the two other men, moved as if by a
single impulse, had sprung forward with a bound, and in the self-same
tone and in the self-same words cried out with one accord, in a wildly
excited voice, "For God's sake, don't throw! You don't know how
dangerous it is!"

Le Neve let his hand drop flat, and allowed the stone to fall from it.
As he did so the two others stood back a pace, as if guarding him, but