"Where are you going? Don't you want to talk to me?"

"I'm going home, m'sieu'. If you'll come with me I'll give you a drink
of hard cider, the best was ever made."

"I'll come. Denzil, I've never been in your little house. That's
strange, when I've known you so many years."

"It's not too late to mend, m'sieu'. There ain't much in it, but it's
all I need."

Carnac stepped with Denzil towards the little house, just in front of
three pine-trees on the hill, and behind Junia's home.

"I always lock my door--always," said Denzil as he turned a key and
opened the door.

They entered into the cool shade of a living-room. There was little
furniture, yet against the wall was a kind of bunk, comfortable and
roomy, on which was stretched the skin of a brown bear. On the wall
above it was a crucifix, and on the opposite wall was the photograph of a
girl, good-looking, refined, with large, imaginative eyes, and a face
that might have been a fortune.

Carnac gazed at it for a moment, absorbed. "That was your girl, Denzil,
wasn't it?" he asked.

Denzil nodded. "The best the world ever had, m'sieu'," he replied, "the
very best, but she went queer and drowned herself--ah, but yes!"