The sun had almost set when she reached Palma. At the hotel her
lawyer, who had made the voyage from Barcelona with her, awaited her
with impatience, while her maid leant idly from the window. In the
evening she went abroad again, alone, in her independent way. She
walked slowly on the Cathedral terrace, where priests lingered, and
a few soldiers from the neighbouring barracks smoked a leisurely
cigarette. All turned at intervals, and looked in the same
direction--namely, towards the west, where the daylight yet lingered
in the sky. The moon, huge and yellow, was rising over the
mountains, above Manacor, at the eastern end of the island. One by
one the idlers dropped away, moving with leisurely steps towards the
town. In very idleness Miss Cheyne followed them. She knew that
they were going to the harbour in anticipation of the arrival of the
Barcelona steamer. She was on the pier with the others, when the
boat came alongside. The passengers trooped off, waving salutations
to their friends. One among them, a small-made, frail man, detached
himself from the crowd, and made his way towards Miss Cheyne, as if
this meeting had been prearranged--and who shall say that it was
not?--by the dim decrees of Fate.



IN A CROOKED WAY



"And let the counsel of thine own heart stand."

It was almost dark, and the Walkham River is much overhung in the
parts that lie between Horrabridge and the old brickworks.