Several times he turned to look towards the house and up the pathway
leading from the hillock to the doorway. Though he waited long he did
not seem impatient; patience was part of him, and not the least part.
At last he sat down on a boulder between the house and the shore, and
scarcely moved, as minute after minute passed, and then an hour and more,
and no one came. Presently there was a soft footstep beside him, and he
turned. A dog's nose thrust itself into his hand.

"Biribi, Biribi!" he said, patting its head with his big hand.
"Watching and waiting, eh, old Biribi?" The dog looked into his eyes as
if he knew what was said, and would speak--or, indeed, was speaking in
his own language. "That's the way of life, Biribi--watching and waiting,
and watching--always watching."

Suddenly the dog caught its head away from his hand, gave a short joyful
bark, and ran slowly up the hillock.

"Guida and the child," the man said aloud, moving towards the house--
"Guida and the child!"

He saw her and the little one before they saw him. Presently the child
said: "See, maman," and pointed. Guida started. A swift flush passed
over her face, then she smiled and made a step forward to meet her
visitor.

"Maitre Ranulph--Ranulph!" she said, holding out her hand. "It's a long
time since we met."

"A year," he answered simply, "just a year." He looked down at the