

### DOCTOR FORESTER

About this Book

(20 chapters, 65,000 words)

Doctor Forester, a medical man only twenty-five years old, has come to a lonely part of Wales to escape from an event in his recent past that has caused him much hurt. So he has more on his mind than worrying about strange noises behind his bedroom wall in the old castle where he is staying.

A young woman who shares part of the journey with him is staying in the same village. He is deeply attracted to her, and believes that she is equally attracted to him. But he soon has every reason to think that his old school friend Jack is also courting her.

Written and taking place in the early 1900s, this romantic mystery is a mix of excitement and heartbreak. What is the secret of Hildick Castle? And can Doctor Forester rid himself of the past that now haunts his life?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story.

* * *

Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

Doctor Forester

Abridged Edition

Mrs. O. F. Walton

First published in England c1906

This Abridged Edition © 2015 Chris Wright

Illustrations © Simon Wright

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

Also available, as eBooks from

White Tree Publishing,

are these abridged editions of

two Classic Romances by Mrs. O. F. Walton

eBook ISBNs

The Lost Clue ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

Was I Right? ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

and by Charles Sheldon

In His Steps ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Paperback editions of all four books are available from most internet book sellers

Doctor Forester is a work of fiction. Named locations are used fictitiously, and characters and incidents are the product of the original author's imagination. The names of places and people are from the original work. Any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner of this book.

Published by

White Tree Publishing Bristol

wtpbristol@gmail.com

Many more White Tree Publishing books on

www.whitetreepublishing.com

### Table of Contents

Cover

About this Book

Introduction

The Visitors at Hildick

Chapter One: Garroch

Chapter Two: Among the Ruins

Chapter Three: An Old Friend

Chapter Four: Footsteps?

Chapter Five: The Old Watchtower

Chapter Six: The Strange Man

Chapter Seven: Sunday at Hildick

Chapter Eight: A Midnight Visitor

Chapter Nine: A Strange Night

Chapter Ten: White Heather

Chapter Eleven: A Meeting Disturbed

Chapter Twelve: Who Chose the Hymn?

Chapter Thirteen: Where Can He Be?

Chapter Fourteen: Watching the Tide

Chapter Fifteen: Whom Shall Tell?

Chapter Sixteen: At the Tent Door

Chapter Seventeen: The Spiral Staircase

Chapter Eighteen: The Secret Drawer

Chapter Nineteen: What Do You Advise?

Chapter Twenty: Goodbye to Hildick

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#  Introduction

Mrs. O. F. Walton wrote many books in the second half of the nineteenth century, and is probably best known for two children's books: Christie's Old Organ and A Peep Behind the Scenes. The wife of a clergyman, she wrote several rather morbid stories for children revolving around premature death.

By the early 1900s Mrs. Walton had moved to less heartrending stories, with two romantic mysteries. The Lost Clue and Doctor Forester. A few minor changes have been made to parts of the text, to make some incidents more easily understood today. All storylines remain unchanged. As well as in eBook format, both these titles are available in paperback from most internet book seller, as is Was I Right? an earlier romantic story, again without children dying.

The formal way in which the people address each other, and court each other in these stories is how things were done at the time. These books are a window into the past, written by someone who lived in a time when the niceties of etiquette were deeply ingrained into English society, and men often addressed their friends by their surnames.

Where does this story take place? There can be no doubt at all from the many details furnished by Mrs. Walton that Garroch is the peninsular in South Wales called the Gower -- or more correctly simply Gower. Llantrug must be the large town of Swansea to the east of Gower (now a city), which would have been the nearest mainline railway station on the Great Western Railway (G.W.R.).

Where is Hildick? There is only one place that meets every single one of Mrs. Walton's details, and that is the tiny village of Oxwich on the south coast of Gower, exactly fourteen miles by road from Swansea, which is the distance given by Mrs. Walton between Llantrug and Hildick.

Oxwich has a castle that exactly matches Hildick Castle, as well as the sand dunes and rocks. The little church with the Martha graves is perched just above the sea, as described in the book. Pennard Castle is a four mile walk east along the sand at low tide, with a stream that has to be waded halfway along.

So why did Mrs. Walton go to so much trouble to disguise the place names? The identity of Oxwich and its inhabitants might have made uncomfortable reading for some people in the area, because of the way a few of them are portrayed. More of a puzzle is why Mrs. Walton made even the smallest physical detail in her story fit a real place so exactly, if she wanted to avoid it being recognized. It should be noted that the discovery in the castle is only fiction \-- so far as anyone knows!

If you want to see what the area looks like today, enter "Oxwich" or "Gower" into Google Earth or Google Images. Alternatively, visit the Gower peninsular. Gower has some stunning scenery, and is a popular area for holidays. It will suit explorers, nature lovers, and people who just want to sit on one of the many sandy beaches and relax. It's an area I got to know well through family holidays.

Chris Wright

Editor

NOTE

There are 20 chapters in this book. In the last third are advertisements for our other books, so the story may end earlier than expected! The last chapter is marked as such. We aim to make our eBooks free or for a nominal cost, and cannot invest in other forms of advertising. However, word of mouth by satisfied readers will also help get our books more widely known. When the story ends, please take a look at what we publish: Christian non-fiction, Christian fiction, and books for younger readers.

# THE VISITORS AT HILDICK

Camping on the headland: Doctor Norman Forester.

Staying at Hildick Castle with the Norrises: Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair, and their sons Val, Dick and Billy, and small daughter Joyce.

Staying at the Bank: Mr. And Mrs. Mainwaring, and brothers and sisters Jack, Don, Mab and Dolly Mainwaring.

Staying with the Jenkins: Mr. Richard Somerville and his daughter Doris.

#  Chapter One

### Garroch

OUTSIDE the railway station at Llantrug, the Garroch horse-drawn coach -- known locally as the bus -- was waiting for the arrival of the evening train. It was only twice a week that this coach came to town, giving the inhabitants of that remote part of South Wales an opportunity of reaching the world beyond their peninsula. They came in by the early bus, did their marketing and other business in Llantrug, and returned by it in the evening, arriving at the end of their long drive between nine and ten o'clock at night.

The inside of the bus was already filled with country people returning to their homes in Garroch -- women with large market-baskets, farmers with good-natured, sunburned faces, girls who had been to see the fashions and buy their new hats, and children taken into town by their parents as a wonderful treat to see the shops and the trams and the bustle of Llantrug.

But the bus never started until the evening train from England arrived, and the Garroch people had to wait, patiently or impatiently as the case might be, because today the train was an hour late. The driver stood by the horses and looked wearily from time to time in the direction of the expected train. Again and again he had turned round with a disappointed air, but at length, with satisfaction he put his head inside the coach and announced: "She's coming!"

A sigh of relief escaped from the long-suffering passengers when they heard this welcome news, and now all looked out to discover whether anyone bound for Garroch had arrived by the train. In a few minutes a porter appeared with a heavily laden truck of luggage.

"All that?" exclaimed the driver.

"Yes, and more to follow," said the man. "And four passengers."

At this moment two of the passengers appeared, and the country people inside eyed them curiously. They saw an older gentleman wearing spectacles and a long gray overcoat, and with him a young lady who they concluded was his daughter. Most of the luggage appeared to belong to them, for the gentleman was scanning it anxiously, counting each package as it was taken off the truck.

"Five, six, seven. I thought there were eight, Doris," he said.

"Yes, there were eight, father. It's your portmanteau that's missing."

The gentleman went off in search of it, followed by the porter. While they were away, the two other passengers came up. One was a short, sickly-looking man with thin lips and sharp features, aged thirty-five or thereabouts, who looked as if he had seen the bleak side of life and had not much chance of seeing any other. He had evidently been into Garroch before, for he greeted the driver as an old friend, and nodded familiarly to several of those inside the bus.

The fourth passenger was a tall young man, more than six feet high, in a long, light overcoat. His luggage consisted of several extraordinary packages sewn up in canvas, and two portmanteaus, evidently new and unused before, on which were inscribed the initials N. S. F.

The man had light brown hair, gray eyes, regular features, and a distinctly handsome face; but as the young lady who was standing near the coach and waiting for her father glanced at him, she thought she had never in her life seen a more melancholy expression. And yet the next moment, when he was speaking to the driver and helping him to adjust some of the packages on the top of the bus, he smiled at some remark that was made, and she immediately wondered at herself for having thought him melancholy, and decided that his was the merriest face she had ever seen. But the brightness was only a passing gleam, like a ray of sunshine streaming through a rent in a storm cloud. For the melancholy returned immediately and seemed more firmly settled than before.

It took some time to pack the luggage and find places for the four passengers. None of them wished to go inside, for which the Garroch people were devoutly thankful as they were already tightly wedged into their places. The two younger men climbed onto the box, and the father and daughter were helped by the driver to mount to the seat behind. It was a relief to everyone when all was ready and they were actually off. Then the tongues inside the bus were busy, for the Garroch people all knew each other and had plenty of interests in common; but there was not much conversation between the outside passengers. The driver was a reserved man, and beyond answering an occasional question from the middle-aged man who sat next him, he took no notice of the passengers.

The old gentleman on the back seat brought a newspaper from his pocket and began to read it as soon as they had left the streets of the town behind, while the girl amused herself by looking at the scenery through which they were passing, and occasionally glancing at her fellow passengers. As for the young man, he spoke to no one.

They had been driving for some miles when they came to an extensive common covered with bracken and gorse, and now and again with patches of purple heather. It was a breezy, pleasant place, far removed from the noxious smoke of the town. The sun was getting low in the sky as they crossed it, and the light was becoming mellow and golden.

The common seemed full of life. Flocks of geese were wandering over the heather; crows and jackdaws were strutting about on the short grass; countless small birds were sitting on the furze bushes, and larks were singing their lullaby overhead.

The girl, whom her father had called Doris, had come from Birmingham, and the freshness and beauty of the scene charmed her beyond measure. The stillness of the place -- a silence broken only by the cries of the birds and the rumbling of the coach wheels -- came as a delightful change from the din and the racket of town life. The clear sky, the lovely tints of tree and fern and hedgerow were wonderfully refreshing to her, after gazing for months on the smoky atmosphere and begrimed vegetation of the Black Country. It would be a pleasure to live, even for a time, she thought, in such a beautiful, peaceful world as this.

It was only when the large, lumbering coach was getting to the far side of the common and leaving its wildness behind, that the long silence was broken by another voice than that of the birds. It was the young man in the light overcoat who broke it.

He turned to the driver, and said, "What sort of hotel is there at Hildick?"

The driver and the man next him exchanged glances and laughed.

"Hotel? In Hildick?" said the driver. "You'll have to look far enough, and long enough, before you find an hotel there. There isn't such a thing, sir!"

"Well, inn, public house, anything you like," said the young man.

"There isn't such a thing," echoed the thin-lipped passenger. "It's plain to see you haven't been to Hildick."

"Well, it's to be hoped I can get a bed somewhere," answered the young man. Then he relapsed into silence.

After some minutes the man next to him looked at the driver, and said, "What about the Bank?"

"There is a bank?" said the young man in surprise.

The driver seemed to think this an excellent joke, for he chuckled to himself as he answered, "A bank? Yes, sir, but there's never any money in it!"

"Any room?" asked the middle-aged man.

"No, full up," answered the driver.

The sun had now set, and the sunset tints were colouring the sky in front of them. To the left they could see the gray sea, dull and cheerless; to the right, wooded hills, and quiet valleys in which the evening mists were gathering.

They passed through several villages, and by many a lone cottage and solitary farmhouse. As the night came on, the load behind the horses became lighter, for one by one the Garroch people inside the bus reached their destination and departed, shouting goodnight to those left behind.

The road was a good one, well made and maintained, but Doris thought she had never seen one more hilly. It was like a switchback in its construction. At one moment the tired horses were toiling with their load up a sharp ascent, at the next they were going steeply downhill with the heavy bus almost on their backs. Every now and then these hills were so long and difficult that everyone turned out of the bus to walk to the top.

It was on one of these occasions that Doris spoke to her tall fellow passenger for the first time. The young girl's father had found such difficulty in getting down from his high seat and afterwards in climbing up to it again, that the driver advised him to stay where he was. But Doris was eager to walk, not only for the sake of the tired horses, but also because she was weary of sitting still on her high seat, and longed for a little exercise. It was then that the young man came forward to help her to dismount, and gave her his firm hand as she made the final leap from the wheel. Doris thanked him, and for some time they walked on together in silence a little ahead of the coach. It was almost dark, and a heavy black cloud was driving up from the sea. Then suddenly the rain came, driving across the open country in a heavy pelting shower.

"Let me get your coat," he said. And without waiting for an answer he ran back to the bus for it.

On his return Doris felt that after his kindness to her she ought not to let the silence continue, but he seemed little inclined for conversation. His answers were short and abrupt, and he spoke sometimes as if he was hardly conscious that he was speaking at all. Behind them came the horses, toiling patiently up the long hill.

It was just as they drew near the top of it that he suddenly turned to her and asked, "Are you going to Hildick?"

"Yes, we are going there for about six weeks," she answered.

Nothing more passed between them, and when they once more had to walk, downhill this time, and over a muddy, heavy road, he strode on alone and spoke to no one.

Doris thought she had seldom come across anyone so unsociable as this man. "And yet he looks as if he ought to be so different," she said to herself.

The curt driver announced, when they were once more taking their seats at the bottom of the hill, that they were in Hildick Bay, and that they would soon be there -- meaning by "there," at the end of their long drive.

What the road was like it was impossible to see, for it was too dark to distinguish anything, and the rain still continued to fall heavily.

The thin-lipped man remarked that it would be a wild night at sea, but beyond a grunt from the driver no one took any notice of what he said. They were cold and wet, tired and hungry, and were longing above all things for the bus to reach its destination.

The long drive came to an end at last, for about a quarter of an hour later the coach drew up at the door of the little post office at Hildick.

A crowd of villagers had collected, in spite of the wind and the rain, to await the arrival of the well-known coach. Some of them were expecting parcels from Llantrug, others had come to meet friends who had been to the town, some were there merely to keep in touch with the outside world.

Doris and her father were going to a lodging some little distance up the road, and the coach was going also to take their luggage.

"Where can I get a bed?" asked the tall young man to the driver, as his packages were lifted down from the roof of the coach.

"Can't say," he answered. "Every place is probably full up. Perhaps they can tell you in there."

He pointed with his whip in the direction of the post office. It was a little general shop with a tiny square window in which some of its wares were exhibited, and with a small counter at one end of it where the post office business was transacted.

The young man went inside, but quickly came out again. "They can't tell me of any place," he said. "Can none of you help me?" he asked, turning to the crowd. "I've got my tent here," pointing to the large packages lying on the ground, "but I can't get it up until morning."

"Here, Rupert, can't you put him up at your place?" said an old man who was standing by the horses. "Your folks haven't come yet, have they?"

A tall, good-looking man stepped forward. He had dark hair and eyes, and a healthy sunburned face. "If you like to come with me, sir," he said, "I'll see what we can do for you. I'll get them to take your bags in here for the night."

After a little discussion he returned and helped the driver carry in the canvas bundles and the tent pole inside the shop. Then as the coach drove away he picked up one of the new portmanteaus and led the way. The young man picked up the other portmanteau and followed him into the darkness.

As they passed under the light of the post office window, the first man looked at the luggage label which was tied to the handle of the portmanteau he was carrying:

FORESTER

LLANTRUG

VIA G.W.R.

"Forester; a good name that," he said to himself as he walked in front of the stranger up the steep hill. "I wonder if it belongs to a good sort of man."

The visitor did not say much to enlighten him on the subject, and Rupert glanced behind him from time to time, trying to discover what he was like, and wondering somewhat anxiously what his father would say when he told him he had brought a stranger to stay with them for the night.

At length, after climbing the hill for some way, Rupert stopped before a white gate and put down the portmanteau for a moment while he opened it.

"Where are we going?" asked the young man.

"To the castle, sir," said his guide.

"The castle? Whose castle?"

"Our castle." He said it with a touch of justifiable pride in his voice. "We've lived in it about four hundred years. Father and son, father and son for four hundred years. There has always been a Norris at the castle since Henry VII was king."

"Does it belong to you?"

"No, not to own it, but we've rented it all the time. All the land, right away along the top of the hill on to the sea, is ours. You can see the old tombs of the Norris family in the church if you like. I often wonder what they were like, those old chaps whose names are there. See, that's the castle, sir, among the trees on the hill."

The rain had stopped, and at this moment the full moon came out from behind a cloud. Forester looked up and saw in the moonlight one of the finest ruins he had ever beheld. High castle walls towered into the sky. A square keep stood out before him in which he could count the windows of six different levels. The whole place looked solemn and weird in the moonlight.

"This is the back way in," said Rupert. "It's the shortest."

They climbed a narrow stone stile and passed through the mysterious-looking ruins. A shrill cry made Forester jump as he followed his guide. But it was only an owl, flying out of the ivy hanging from the high ruined wall which they were passing on their right. Several bats were whirling round overhead. They seemed in keeping with the place in which they lived, for the day of the old castle was surely over and its night had begun.

In a few moments, however, the scene changed. They came to a part of the castle still inhabited and which had never been allowed to fall into ruin. From a large window the bright light of fire and lamp was illuminating the darkness outside. Forester was almost dazzled as he came in from the gloom of the ruins.

Rupert led the way into the large farm kitchen which was the picture of cleanliness and comfort. He was too tired and depressed to do more than glance at it, so he waited for his new-found friend to introduce him to its occupants.

These were three in number. Sitting on a dark oak settle by the great open fire was an old man, spreading his hands to the warm blaze of the logs. In an ancient high-backed chair opposite him was Leonard, a boy of ten, leaning over a book which he was reading by the light of the fire, while his mother, a woman of about thirty with light hair and a gentle refined face, who was introduced as Mary, was busily engaged in laying the supper table.

"You're late, Rupert," said the old man as he entered.

"Yes, father, the coach was late. Left Llantrug late. The London train was an hour behind time. I've got the parcel you wanted, and I've brought a gentleman with me."

They all looked up at these words, and glanced at Forester who was standing in the doorway, and whom they had clearly not noticed before.

"He has come to camp out, and has brought his tent with him," Rupert explained. "But, of course, he can't put it up tonight, and he can't find a bed in the village anywhere. They're all full up. So I thought perhaps we could put him up tonight. It's a wild kind of night to be wandering about in a strange place."

"I'm sure if you can give me a bed I shall be most grateful," said the young man, coming forward into the light. "I had no idea there was no inn here. Any place will do. The barn if you like. I'm not at all particular."

The old man and his daughter-in-law exchanged glances. To take in a stranger at that time of night, of whom they knew absolutely nothing, seemed to them to be a somewhat risky proceeding.

The stranger saw their hesitation, and putting his hand in his pocket drew out a card case, and taking a card from it handed it to Mrs. Norris. She took it to the light to read it.

When the old man had also read the card he seemed to dismiss his doubts and be ready to give the stranger, who had dropped in on them so unexpectedly, a hearty welcome to the castle. He invited him to sit on the oak settle and warm himself until supper was ready, then he soon put the visitor at ease and talked to him on all kinds of subjects, showing Forester, by the questions he asked and by the remarks he made, that although the old man lived in this out-of-the-world place he was extremely well-informed, and kept himself thoroughly in touch with what was going on in his own and other countries.

Forester was glad of the meal that followed, for he had tasted nothing since he left London. He had had neither the heart nor the inclination for a meal on his way down, but the entire change of surroundings, and the strange place in which he found himself, were turning his thoughts in a fresh direction at least for a time, and the sea air which he had been breathing all the way from Llantrug had given him an appetite. He did full justice to the savoury rabbit stew, the homemade bread and butter, and the little round cakes, crisp and hot from the oven.

Then, while the supper was being cleared away, Forester went back to the comfortable corner on the settle and looked round the old-fashioned kitchen. It was worth looking at, for it was filled with relics of bygone days. Behind the chimney-corner in which he was sitting was a cupboard, which the old man explained used to be the bed place in the old time. In the woodwork at the back of the dark settle he was shown two round holes, through which the master and mistress used to peer from their bed to discover whether the servants in the kitchen were doing their work properly and diligently.

Along one side of the room was a high oak dresser on which stood two long rows of brightly polished ancient pewter dishes, while below were willow pattern china plates, antique jugs, old-fashioned teapots, and other treasures of the past which had been handed down from father to son through many generations.

When at last he went up to bed, with Rupert carrying a candle before him, Norman Forester felt as if he was walking in a dream. Rupert led the way up a rickety oak staircase with dark panelling on either side. Passing an old chest where the household linen was stored, they turned into a long narrow corridor which ran the whole length of the farmhouse.

Forester felt as if he was in some foreign monastery. He went back in thought to a night he had spent some years before in the convent at Ramleh while on his way from Jaffa to Jerusalem. On his right he saw the deep narrow castle windows set in walls four feet in thickness, windows which must have been beautifully mullioned in their day. Overhead were rough beams and rafters, and on the left were the various bedroom doors of dark oak, opening by means of primitive latches. The deep window seats, the long narrow ceiling, and the high walls of the corridor were all whitewashed, and looked bare and monastic in their simplicity.

"Any ghosts here?" asked the Doctor.

"I never met one," Rupert replied. "Every castle has its ghost, and ours is no exception. A murder was committed in the courtyard below in the olden time. There was a shipwreck in Hildick Bay on the shore near the old church. It was in the time of Henry VII, shortly before we Norrises came to the castle. A French ship was driven ashore. It was on its way to Scotland, I believe, but it went to pieces on the rocks. The beach below here was strewn with chests of gold and jewels. The lord of Hildick Castle seized the plunder. He searched the shore carefully and collected all that the tide brought in, and carried it up here to the castle.

"But Sir Harry D'Arcy, who owned the property on the other side of the bay, came in a great rage and demanded his share of the spoil. Then when the castle folks declined to part with any of it, Sir Harry brought his armed retainers to the gate to take the treasure by force.

"The lord of the castle here, Sir John Mandeville, was away from home when they arrived, but his sister came out of the castle. Standing just below these windows she ordered the soldiers to depart; and one of them, taking a stone from the ground, hurled it at her and killed her on the spot. Yes, there's a ghost, or said to be one," Rupert Norris added with a laugh; "but all I can say is, I have never caught sight of it!"

"What became of the treasure?"

"No one knows, sir," said Rupert. "Some say it was buried in the castle yard, or hidden behind the panelling somewhere, but none of us Norrises has ever come across it. I only wish we had."

As he said this, he lifted the latch of one of the doors and led the way into a large bedroom where a bed had been prepared for the visitor. Then putting the candlestick down on a handsome mahogany chest of drawers, he wished the doctor goodnight and left him.

#  Chapter Two

### Among the Ruins

WHEN Norman Forester looked round the ancient room in which he was to spend the night, he felt as though he was in a dream. The great bed with its four elaborately carved posts, the old engravings in their antique frames, the deep window showing the thickness and massive strength of the castle walls, the great oak beams overhead -- all reminded him of stories he had read of bygone ages.

Surely here he would find what he wanted, what he had come from his busy life in London to seek -- oblivion, as far as his own past was concerned. Surely that chapter of his life, which was now closed for ever, would become a forgotten chapter here.

He felt tired and in need of rest, and he went to bed determined to sleep. But sleep seemed far away. A noisy clock in the corridor outside struck the hours in a fussy, imperious way, as if it demanded attention from all who were within hearing distance.

But it needed no clock to keep the young doctor awake. Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

It was soon after this that Doctor Forester's thoughts were diverted by the sound of quiet footsteps overhead. Someone seemed to be moving stealthily about, just over his bed. He wondered who slept there. The farmhands, perhaps. He had seen no staircase going higher than the one he had ascended the night before, but perhaps it was hidden by the curtain hanging across the end of the corridor.

The footsteps ceased after a time, and he became more drowsy. But he was conscious of the sound of a slight cough. He heard it from time to time, and he fancied, when he was sufficiently roused to think about it at all, that it sounded from somewhere overhead.

By degrees the long night wore away, and with earliest dawn the whole place seemed astir. Pigs grunted under his window; cocks crowed on the wall close by. The lowing of cows, the bleating of sheep, the barking of dogs, all the countless noises of the farmyard fell on his ear. As the sunshine streamed in at his window he jumped out of bed, feeling that the ghosts of the night had departed, and that the new chapter of his life had begun.

Breakfast was ready in the old kitchen when the doctor went down. The fragrant odour of freshly made coffee and the appetizing sound of ham frizzling on the fire made him feel disposed for it. Old Mr. Norris was sitting on the high-backed wooden settle, and holding his hands to the fire just as he had done the evening before. He looked, Forester thought, as if he might have sat there all night without moving.

Rupert Norris and his wife Mary had been up almost as soon as the sun. The cows had been milked, and the chickens, geese, and ducks fed. The farmhands had long finished their breakfast and gone out to feed the pigs and the cattle, and take the cows back to the pasture. Now the children, three in number, were sitting patiently round the table waiting for the meal to begin. Leonard, the boy Forester had seen the night before, was the eldest, and there were twin girls, six years old, born on May Day and named in consequence, he was told with pride, Hawthorn and May.

The old man came to the table and invited the doctor to take a seat beside him, and asked a blessing on their food. But just as the coffee was being poured out there came an interruption. It took the form of a sharp rap on the outer door. Leonard got up at once, at a word from his mother, and opened the door. Without waiting for an invitation, the man who had knocked walked straight into the kitchen as if he were an expected guest. To Forester's great surprise he saw that it was the man who had travelled with him from Llantrug the day before, and who had sat between the driver and himself on the box.

The visitor shook the father and son warmly by the hand, kissed the little girls, and laid his hand affectionately on Leonard's shoulder, while he spoke to his mother and tendered his apologies to her for the intrusion at that early hour. Then, suddenly recognizing the doctor, he claimed him also as an old acquaintance, and seemed determined to be on the best and most friendly terms with the whole party.

The old man, in his usual courteous manner, invited him to join them at their morning meal, and the stranger, evidently gratified by the attention, accepted the offer readily and sat down at the table between the two little girls. As he helped himself from the dish of smoking ham and poured some of the thick cream into his cup, he seemed, Forester thought, to make himself very much at home. Yet he could not help fancying that old Mr. Norris regarded him with a certain amount of distrust.

"What brings you to these parts again?" the old man asked presently.

"What brings me?" said the visitor. "I wonder you ask that, Mr. Norris! What brings the many others who visit Hildick from time to time? What will bring our friend here, now that he has found out the beauties of the place? Why, sir, you may not know it, but this bay of yours is a perfect gem of beauty. Can you wonder that we poor citizens of smoky towns return to it as often as we can?"

Apparently old Mr. Norris had no answer to give to this natural explanation of his visitor's reappearance, and he relapsed into silence, leaving the conversation to his son and the man who had just joined them.

Forester, being little inclined to take part in the talk that was going on, had ample leisure to notice his fellow-traveller. He was sitting opposite to him, and he could see him much better than he had been able to do when he was close to him on the box-seat of the coach. He noticed the thin lips and long pale face which gave the man a sickly appearance, but it was another feature which made the most impression on the doctor. He thought he had never seen such restless, inquisitive eyes as those of the stranger. There was an eager, grasping expression in them which struck Forester as most peculiar.

Whether he was talking to Rupert Norris, or listening to the conversation of the children, or eating the good farm fare, at all times those eyes were busy. Sometimes he was gazing at the oak beams overhead, sometimes at the dresser with its pewter dishes; sometimes he was glancing up the oak staircase, or looking inquisitively behind him as Mrs. Norris went to the old bed place to bring something from the spacious cupboard. He caught Forester's eye on one of these peering expeditions, and at once made some kind of apology.

"I am afraid your friend here thinks I am Paul Pry," he said, turning to old Mr. Norris, "but I do so dearly love old places and old things. I feel that I haven't half seen your old castle yet. Does any of that wainscoting slide back, I wonder?"

"No, sir, nothing of the kind. I've tried it many a time -- ay, and my father before me, and my grandfather and great-grandfather before him. It's all solid woodwork, and has no secret cupboard or hidden chambers. They would have been found, long before I was born, had they been there."

Soon after this, Rupert rose from the table to go to his work on the farm, and the visitor, after finding out in which direction he was going, asked if he might have the pleasure of accompanying him as he also was going that way. He wished them good morning and walked as far as the outer door, when as if it was an afterthought he turned back to ask a question.

"Mrs. Norris," he said, "I had no idea you had so much room to spare in the castle. I see you have been able to give this gentleman a bed. I wonder if you could do the same for a friend of mine who is coming by the coach tonight."

"No, sir," said the old man; "we have no room at all. Mary will tell you so. We will be full up tomorrow. We have a large party coming in."

"But," said the man, "I never expected you to take my friend in here, I mean in this part of the castle. I know all your best rooms are let through the summer, but he's only a rough-and-ready fellow. Any shakedown will do for him. Why, in some of these outbuildings, in one of these rooms over the gateway, surely you could stow him away. He intended to camp out and got the loan of a tent, but it has never turned up. The friend who was going to lend it wanted it at the last moment, for something or other, I forget what. But he has got his camp bed and mattress, and all that sort of thing. He would be in clover in one of those old rooms up there."

"Up where, sir?" asked the old man quickly.

"Why, where I see windows at the side of the gateway, and up in the roof over these rooms you live in. There must be some place up there."

"Rupert," called the old man to his son who was waiting in the castle courtyard, "come here. I want you. Here's this gentleman wants us to let a friend of his have a room somewhere in the old ruins. There is no place, Rupert, I say, where it would be convenient for him to go."

Rupert obviously took his cue from his father, and answered, rather reluctantly Forester thought, that there was indeed no place where the friend could be accommodated.

The two men went out together. The old gentleman gave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind them, and then invited the doctor to sit in the chimney-corner and have a chat with him before going out.

The month was August, but the air was chilly after the rain of the night before, and a wind blew from over the sea.

"Who is that man?" asked Forester.

"That's more than I can tell you, sir," said the old man. "He calls himself an antiquarian. Not a very paying business, I would imagine, by the look of his coat, but perhaps he wears it out poking about among rubbish in old places."

"Where does he come from?"

"Birmingham, he says. We saw him first in the Easter holidays. He lodged at the post office, and he came poking about the old castle all the time he was here. I went round the ruins with him once, and showed him all about, but he was too inquisitive for me. He wanted to be here, there, and everywhere. He poked and peered about, and kept on telling me he was an antiquarian until I was sick of the very word. He got round my son Rupert somehow. Rupert thought I had no right to be suspicious of him, and he let him see a lot more of the castle than I had patience to show him. Did he take him to the loft, Mary, do you know?"

"No, father, I don't think so. They went inside that part of the castle, into your tool house, I believe, but I don't think Rupert took him upstairs to the loft."

"Where is the loft?" Forester asked.

"Why, it's over where you slept last night, sir. It's a long room, as long as the corridor you walked down, and as wide as our bedrooms and the corridor put together, but with nothing but rafters and tiles overhead. It is hot in the summer and cold in the winter. We keep the apples up there when we strip the orchard in the autumn. We shall be getting some of them stored soon. They're fast ripening on the south side of the trees."

"Who sleeps up there now?"

"No one," said the old man, "nor no one ever has in my time, no, nor in my father's either. It's too hot or too cold according to the time of year, and it's an awful place to be on a windy night. You'd almost be blown out of bed if you slept up there."

"I thought I heard footsteps overhead last night," Forester explained.

"Impossible, sir, it couldn't be footsteps. Rats, maybe, or mice."

"But there was a cough too," said the doctor. "Rats don't cough -- at least, I never heard them"

"But pigs do," said Mr. Norris, "and the old sow has a terrible bad cough."

"But she wasn't in the loft over my head," suggested Forester.

"In the loft, bless you, no, sir! But noises are deceptive in a strange place, and the sties are not far away. I heard her myself last night. Rupert will have to see to her when he comes in."

Forester did not press the subject, although he was not at all convinced by what the old man said. He went on to make inquiries as to the best place for him to pitch his tent. He found that the shore was out of the question, for the lord of the manor allowed no tents to be erected there; but Mr. Norris told him that he was welcome to put up his tent in any place he chose on the castle farm.

"Go as far as you like along the top of the headland. It all belongs to the castle, right away down to the rocks on the shore. You can't go wrong, anyhow, if you go in that direction."

Then the doctor inquired how he could get help in bringing the tent up the hill, and in setting it in its place.

"Why, Maxie will help you, to be sure," old Mr. Norris replied, "and be glad of the job too. He has a bit of a donkey and an old cart. He'll bring your tent up all right. Folks say Maxie's a little gone in the upper storey. Maybe he is, but he's strong enough and capable enough if you don't drive him too fast. Give him his time, and he's all right. We often use his help in hay time or harvest time. Oh yes, Maxie will do it right enough. But there's no need to hurry, sir. Mary, I'm sure, will say the same. If you can put up with us for another night, why, we can put up with you. Our visitors don't come until tomorrow evening, and so if you'll stop here until then, you and Maxie can get the tent up at your leisure."

Mary heartily seconded her father-in-law's invitation, and Forester, when he saw that they really wished it, readily assented.

Seeing that there was now no hurry about pitching the tent, the doctor determined to spend the morning in getting some idea of his new surroundings. He opened the door leading into the castle courtyard, and started on his voyage of discovery.

The mysterious gloom of the night before had vanished with the owls and the bats, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. For the first time Norman Forester was able to see distinctly the ruins of the old castle. He found himself in a square courtyard, and between the pavestones the grass of ages had grown so thickly that little of the original stones could be seen. On his right was a high ruined wall, in which were quaint mullioned windows hung with festoons of ivy.

On his left was the ancient gateway with the stone escutcheon over it, emblazoned with the coat of arms of old Sir John Mandeville, the lord of Hildick Castle. In front of him the courtyard wall had been entirely demolished, and he looked on a glorious view of hill and dale and wood, while down in the valley he could just distinguish the little village of Hildick nestling among the trees.

Before going down the hill and finding his way to the shore, Norman Forester determined to walk round the ruined castle. The old man had invited him to go wherever he liked, but apologized to him for not accompanying him, as he was not feeling well that morning and was unable to walk far.

He found the ruins were much more extensive than he had imagined the night before. The walls of the whole of the principal part of the castle were standing, but the roof was gone, and the floors of the different rooms had fallen in. He looked up from the heap of rubbish below which was covered with brambles, nettles, and long grass, and tried to picture to himself what the castle had been like in the days of its glory.

The great window of the banqueting hall through which in bygone days the sunlight had streamed on many a festive scene; the wide fireplaces with the comfortable seats in the chimney-corner, where on the cold winter evenings the family had gathered round the cheerful blaze of the great wood fire; the lower floors with their smaller windows where the castle servants had had their apartments; the small turret whence the lord of the castle and his guests had gazed on the beauties of Hildick Bay -- all these spoke to him of what had been in the past.

But now the mullioned window of the banqueting-hall had partly fallen away; ivy was hanging over the walls; the fireplaces were the homes of birds; the seats in the chimney-corner were covered with ferns and moss; the servants' hall was turned into a henhouse; the stone steps of the staircase were crumbling away; the turret was the dwelling-place of bats. It was the same everywhere -- ruin and decay were written on the whole place.

The large pigeon cote, built at the same time as the castle itself, had been taken possession of by cackling hens which had made the deep pigeon-holes into nests where they could lay their eggs. The great keep, where the armed men of the castle had been quartered, had become the home of ferrets which were hung in cages on the walls. The guardroom over the gateway, from which, through a wide groove in the floor, large stones could be hurled on the head of an approaching foe, was shut up and filled with rubbish.

The castle had been grand in its day, and was beautiful even in its decay; yet in Forester's present frame of mind it affected him with a strange feeling of sadness which he could hardly restrain. He knew he was an imaginative man by nature, and as he wandered through the deserted ruins it seemed to him that he heard, in them, dismal echoes of his own feelings.

He had been the owner of a castle, too. A fair and pleasing castle it had appeared to him, busy with life and home comfort, well guarded from the approach of danger and from the storms of adversity. But he had seen that castle fall and crumble away. Although it was only a castle in the air, great had been the fall of it. And now, after wandering among its ruins he had to remind himself that he had come to Hildick to forget it all; to clear away, if possible, the old stones and begin his life anew -- a wiser though sadder man.

Yet here, at the outset, the old castle at Hildick acted as a reminder of what he had come to forget.

#  Chapter Three

### An Old Friend

DOCTOR FORESTER finished his walk round the ruins, noticing how the new farm buildings seemed interwoven with the old fabric as if they were striving to infuse fresh life into the decaying place, and now found himself approaching the outside of the grand entrance gate. And there, bending on his stick was old Mr. Norris. The bright August sunshine had tempted him out, and he was basking in its warmth and leaning on the old gateposts for support.

"Well, sir, what do you think of Hildick Castle?" he asked, as he saw the doctor approaching.

"It's a splendid old place," said Forester. "It must have been grand in its day."

"Grand? I should think so," said the old man, "but it's coming down fast -- bit by bit. I've seen a great deal of it go since I was a boy. Ay, and my son Rupert will see more go, and young Leonard will see more still. You were asking about the loft, sir. Would you like to go up? You're welcome, if you would care to see it."

Forester thanked him, and the old man led the way to a door which opened into the courtyard not far from the large gateway. Several bats flew out of dark corners as they entered, and a great rat ran across the floor. This part of the building had in bygone days been the guardroom of the castle, where the armed men on watch at the gate had warmed themselves at the large open fire on the hearth.

Here again were chimney-corners, and close to the fire was another ancient bed place where the man who had come off guard could stretch himself on a winter's night in warmth and comfort as soon as he was relieved by a change of guards, and his long cold watch was ended.

This old room and another opening out of it were used as storerooms, where all manner of things were hidden away -- an ancient pump, a bicycle, pieces of wood, tools of various kinds, birdcages, trestles, broken chairs, a churn, an old door, mole traps, and a variety of other articles.

The two rooms bore traces of having been used as a dwelling place at no very remote date. Soot was still hanging in the wide chimney; strong hooks for ham and bacon were fastened in the beams overhead, and an oak chest stood under the narrow window.

"My old grandmother lived in these rooms," said Mr. Norris. "Many a bit of cake have I eaten in that chimney-corner. I used to like to come in here when I was a youngster. This way, sir, up this old narrow staircase."

As Forester followed him, he noticed that the stone steps wound round the inside of a high turret which stood close to the gateway, and from which there was a passage leading over the top of the gate. Here and there were narrow slits in the thick wall, from which the guards could see the approach to the castle. The steps brought them at last into the large room which went by the name of the loft.

The doctor looked around to see if he could find anything to confirm the impression that there had been footsteps over his head the night before. But the whole place appeared to be empty and bear no sign of occupation. An ancient bedstead, which probably had not been used for centuries, stood at one end of it. A broken spinning-wheel of antique form was propped against the wall; a pile of musty books and papers lay in a corner. Everything seemed to belong to past ages, with the exception of some onions spread to dry on the floor.

There was no place where anyone could hide; there was no room for mystery; there was nothing ghostly or weird about the place. As Forester looked round it on that bright August morning, he saw nothing whatever to account for the sounds which had disturbed his slumbers.

When they had descended the narrow staircase, they found a tall man with brick-red complexion, rough grizzly hair, dressed in coarse corduroy and an old sealskin cap, standing near the farmhouse door. He had a basket on his right arm full of young lobsters and crabs, and in his left hand he held a plate covered with a clean white cloth.

"Maxie," said old Mr. Norris, "we were talking about you a while since, and now here you are."

"Fine crabs, sir," said the tall man. "Fresh this morning, sir. I went to the pots before it was light. Brought 'em home and boiled 'em. Taste like chicken, sir. Try 'em."

"Bring them in, Maxie, and let's have a look at them. I know a good crab when I see one. What's that you've got under your cloth there?"

"Laver bread \-- prime!" said Maxie, smacking his lips. "Never tasted better. Plucked it myself, sir, off the rocks."

"What in the world is laver bread?" inquired Forester, as he looked at the round black cakes which the crab-seller uncovered and held out for Mr. Norris inspection.

"It's made from seaweed," explained the old man. "A certain kind of seaweed which grows on the rocks here. They gather it and boil it down until it's quite soft, and make it into cakes. They're thought a great delicacy. There was nothing my old father liked better than a slice of laver bread. How much do you want for them, Maxie?"

Forester left the old man to choose his crabs and bargain with Maxie about the coveted cakes; and after arranging with the crab-seller to call for his luggage at the post office and bring it up to the castle in the afternoon, he passed through the great gateway and set out to explore the village and the bay.

Outside the gate, standing patiently waiting for his master, he found Maxie's donkey, a little brown beast with a black mark across its neck and down the middle of its back. On the cart were plums, apples, gooseberries, and a few potatoes and cabbages which Maxie was evidently hawking round the village. From this, the doctor concluded that his crab pots did not form his only means of earning a livelihood.

Forester took the road leading across a field where the farm geese were keeping up a continual argument with each other. He stopped for a moment to notice one of them which kept apart from the flock and seemed to avoid their society. It had a broken leg and could only hobble from place to place. It objected to the noisy chatter of the rest, and chose a quiet corner of the field where it would be undisturbed by their disputes and be out of their way. Forester thought that he understood its feelings and could sympathize.

Farther along the field he had his first view of the bay. The sea lay far below him, blue as the sky above it. To the right was the headland, thickly wooded and stretching out far into the water. Beneath it the coast was bold and wild in the extreme, covered with huge boulders and heavy masses of rock.

On the left high cliffs rose in the distance standing like sentinels guarding the bay, while between the two points lay a beach of yellow sand covered in places by seaweed. Sand dunes fringed this part of the shore, and formed a barrier between the sea and the low marshy ground which stretched for more than a mile inland, and across which, like a white snake, wound the road over which the horse-drawn bus had brought him the night before.

From the field gate a steep descent led Forester down to the shore. The road was cool and shady, for trees grew thickly on either side, and in many places their branches met overhead.

The loveliness of the place, the abundant life and beauty on all sides charmed him more and more. He was not an artist, but he had the eye of an artist, and he simply revelled in it all. He felt that after what he had gone through before leaving home, he needed just such peaceful scenes as these to act as a sedative to his overstrained feelings, and fit him to take up his work again with fresh vigour and renewed zeal.

As for human companionship, he craved none of it. He had come to Hildick to get away from people, and in that vow he intended to succeed. As soon as his tent was pitched, somewhere in a remote part of the headland, there would be no need for him to see anyone or go anywhere.

Beyond an occasional chat with old Mr. Norris at the castle he would shun his fellow men. He would talk to no one, and he wanted no one to speak to him. He would enjoy his solitude and revel in his loneliness. If disturbing thoughts came, he would battle with them alone, and by degrees he would be able to get the mastery over them.

However, for this one day he would chance coming across the Hildick people. The tent was not up yet, so his life as a recluse could not begin. He would therefore make use of the day by finding out what manner of people inhabited the little village.

A shortcut across the fields to the left of the road led him by a narrow lane into the village street. He found himself close to the post office where the bus had stopped the night before. He stepped inside to tell the postmistress that Maxie would call for his luggage, and he found a young man standing at the counter writing a telegram.

Forester could not see his face, for his back was turned towards him. He stood waiting until the young man had finished, and meanwhile he glanced round the tiny shop to see what he would be able to buy there if occasion required. Every little hole and corner in the place was filled with odds and ends of all kinds and descriptions -- tea, sugar, currants, soap, candles, stockings and haberdashery, writing materials and stationery, a little crockery. A little of everything, in fact, which the villagers might require, while on the counter were several large loaves of bread and a few bunches of green watercress.

Forester had just finished his survey when the young man at the counter laid down his pen. The postmistress took up the white telegraphic form and read aloud what was written on it:

"Mainwaring, Faudry Street, Manchester. Expect you tomorrow by evening coach."

"All right," said the young man, and turned round to leave the shop.

Forester looked at him with interest. He was dressed in gray flannel, and wearing a straw hat with a university boating ribbon on it. Surely he knew him -- the curly hair, the regular features, the laughing blue eyes -- surely he had seen all these before. He had known some Mainwarings once in his schooldays at Repton. The elder one Jack had been his greatest friend there and was about his own age. The other, Don, was some years younger. It was of the younger brother that he was reminded now. Could it be the same? It was the same, and young Don Mainwaring recognized him the next moment.

"Why, Norman Forester! To think of meeting you of all people in this out-of-the-way place. Why, it's years since I saw you, and yet I would have known you any. where. Whatever on earth brought you to Hildick?"

"I might say the same to you, Don," said Forester, laughing. "Where's Jack? Is he here?"

"Coming tomorrow. I was just sending my brother a wire when you came in. What are you doing here, Forester?"

"I've come to camp out and take life easy a bit," he answered.

"Been working too hard? You look a bit pale, I think, now I look at you more closely. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. Never mind me, Don; tell me about yourself. What are you going to do?"

"I'm at university still, grinding away for my degree. I ought to be studying now, but it poured nearly all day yesterday so I did double measure, and it's so jolly this morning I couldn't settle down to books. Lucky, wasn't it, that I just met you here? Won't my brother Jack open his eyes when I tell him who is in Hildick!"

"What's Jack doing?"

"Don't you know? He's a parson, working all the flesh off his bones in Manchester in some slummy sort of parish; running in and out of dirty houses all day, teaching grimy children, and all the rest of it. I wouldn't have his job for a pot of money, but he's as happy as the day is long in it all. He's coming to take the duty here for a few weeks. This parson has gone away for his holiday, and Jack has to look after these few sheep in the wilderness."

They were passing a pretty lime-washed cottage where an old woman in a white apron was standing at the door. The small garden in front of this cottage was full of fuchsias and rose-colored phlox, and a beautiful myrtle tree massed with white blossom was growing over the porch. The old woman was spotlessly clean, and had a white cap on her head.

"Good morning," said Don Mainwaring, who had a word for everyone he met. "What a fine myrtle tree."

"My mother planted it," said the woman. "It was a tiny slip then, no longer than your little finger, and just see it now."

"Then you've lived here all your life?

"Yes I have, and my mother before me. She lived here all her life too. Mr. John Wesley, the Methodist preacher, stayed here in our cottage. That would be in my great-grandmother's time. Come inside, gentlemen, if you like, and I'll show you something."

The two young men followed her into a beautifully clean room, with sanded floor and low ceiling. A grandfather clock in a handsome oak case stood in one corner, and lovely old china was arranged on a brightly polished dresser.

Many of these were valuable, but they were not the treasure, the priceless treasure, of that house. The old woman brought it out with pride. It was a small chair with wide wooden arms and seat, a chair which was carefully handled and kept scrupulously clean, and which had been handed down from generation to generation as a precious heirloom.

"Look at that chair," she said, as she stooped down to dust it. "In that chair John Wesley sat when he was in Hildick. Ay, he was a good man was John Wesley. Sit in the chair, young gentlemen, if you like, and you can say you've sat where John Wesley sat."

"We must bring Jack here," said Don as they came out. "He's capital with old women. He'll talk by the hour. Fancy Jack at a mothers' meeting, Forester! Isn't it funny to think of it?"

Norman Forester ignored the question. "Where are you staying, Don?"

"Oh, at the Bank."

"The Bank?"

"Yes, not a branch of Lloyd's or Barclay's -- the other kind of bank. The house where we are lodging is halfway up the bank, and gets its name from it."

"Are any of your family here?"

"All of us except Jack, and he's coming tomorrow. My sisters will be down on the shore presently -- Mab and Dolly. Do you remember when they came over to Repton for Speech Day? Let's get on the rocks, and they'll find us there."

"Are many people lodging in Hildick?"

"Many? No, there are only four or five houses where they let rooms. Where are you staying?"

"I'm camping out. At least, I shall be tomorrow. I was at the castle last night. Do you know any of the other people here?"

"Only Uncle Richard and Doris. They came yesterday. They're staying at the Jenkins' cottage, higher up the street."

"Oh," said Forester, "I believe I came on the coach with them."

"Jolly girl, Doris, isn't she?"

"I hardly saw her," said Forester.

"Well, you'll see her this morning. She's not exactly our cousin, you know. Uncle Richard is mother's second cousin, but we call him uncle. Have you been on the shore yet?"

Forester told him that he had only just come down the hill, and they walked on together.

The more the young doctor saw of Hildick, the more he admired it. The old church stood at the foot of the steep hill, with the woods above it and the rocks and the sea below. The shore was practically deserted, and the tide was a long way out, but the colouring was exquisite. The green foliage of the trees above the rocks, the gray stone, yellow sand, and blue sea -- all formed one lovely picture. Three fair-haired children were wading at the edge of the water, white seagulls were strutting over the sand, a coastguard was looking through his telescope at a ship far out at sea; but beyond these there seemed no sign of life.

The two young men sat down on the shingle which was piled in a high bank along the shore, gazing out to sea. It was a quiet, peaceful scene on which they looked, and Forester and his friend chatted of their old schooldays, and watched the tide coming in and swiftly covering the sandy shore.

The three children paddling in the shallow water were letting the advancing waves wash over their feet. Every moment it was coming nearer, and they could hear their merry voices more distinctly.

Soon other voices were heard behind them, and three girls with bathing dresses and towels over their arms came down to the shore. Don made short work of the introduction.

"Here, Mab and Dolly, this is Jack's friend, Norman Forester. You remember him, don't you? He read the prize poem that day you came to Repton, and got all the prizes and all the clapping."

Mab Mainwaring was a merry, good-natured girl of about twenty. She was not pretty, Forester thought when he looked at her. She had large and rather prominent blue eyes, and a somewhat broad face; but her hair was a lovely shade of brown, and looked as if the sunbeams had somehow become entangled in it. She was the embodiment of good nature and merriment, and Forester liked her from the first.

The younger girl, whom Don had called Dolly, was a little beauty. She had delicate, refined features, a high forehead, lighter hair than her sister, a clear complexion, a white skin, and a face the expression of which changed every moment. Forester imagined that she must be about seventeen.

The third girl was his travelling companion of the night before. She looked at him with a shy smile as Don introduced him to her.

"Norman Forester, Miss Doris Somerville."

Doris was a great contrast to the two Mainwaring sisters. Her hair was dark, almost black; she had a bright color and her eyes -- well, Forester could not make up his mind what color her eyes were. Sometimes he thought they were bright blue, like the forget-me-nots which grew in the brook that ran at the bottom of the garden in his old home. Sometimes they seemed to him more like the Parma violet sweets which he had bought a few weeks ago to send to... But he was not going to think of that now, or here. He would not look at Doris Somerville's eyes if they reminded him of anything of the kind.

As the merry talk went on around him in which he could not help joining from time to time, he felt inclined to smile to himself. All this was so vastly different from the kind of life he had intended to lead here at Hildick. Well, perhaps it was better so, for the first day at least, and the tent would be up tomorrow.

He caught Doris's eyes looking at him once or twice. There was a puzzled look in them, and he wondered what it meant. Did she imagine she had seen him before?

If he could have read her thoughts, he would have found that, as she looked at him, she was wondering at the change in him from the night before. On the coach he had seemed so terribly sad that his face of hopeless misery had haunted her all night. Now he looked as if he had not a care in the world, and as if life to him was all pleasure and enjoyment. Which, she wondered, was the real man?

The bay was becoming lively now. Doris's father Mr. Somerville, along with two old ladies who were staying at the post office, and a large party of children who were lodging in a house close to the sands, had all come down to the shore, and the sea birds began to beat a retreat, for the tide was coming in apace.

After a time the party on the shingle broke up. Most of them walked along the shore to the bathing place, and Forester found himself left behind with Mr. Somerville.

"Shall we walk along the shore under the church, Doctor Forester," he said, "and sit there until they return? There are comfortable seats on the rocks this way. I leave the climbing to the young people. Give me a seat with a nice back to it, and I want nothing more."

Forester readily agreed, and when Mr. Somerville had selected the place he sat down beside him. The elder man then took a folded newspaper from his pocket, carefully divided it and gave half the pages to his companion, while he settled himself comfortably to read the leading articles.

Forester did not read at first. He was watching an old sailor who appeared to be about eighty years of age. He had unfastened a boat which was moored to the rocks and was rowing it slowly out to sea. But after a time he looked down at the newspaper he held in his hand.

The old gentleman looked up to make some remark, and was astonished to see the extraordinary change in his companion. He stopped in the midst of what he was saying and asked him if he felt ill.

"Oh, nothing much," said Forester hurriedly. "I have been rather unwell lately. I shall be all right in a moment. I'll just be going slowly up the hill, I think. Dinner will be ready at the castle, and they've asked me to come to it."

"Better wait a bit," said Mr. Somerville.

"Oh no, thank you, I'm quite all right now, perfectly right. Good morning. Just tell the others, please, when they come back, that I was afraid of being late, so had to go."

Mr. Somerville looked after him, and watched him climbing the shingle and taking the path towards the village.

"The young doctor seems to walk steadily," he said, "but he certainly looked faint. Could it be anything he saw in this paper that upset him?"

He picked up the sheet which Forester had laid beside him, but found nothing to account for the change in his companion. There was the account of a murder in the east end of London, and another of a burglar carrying off a countess's jewels; but the rest of the paper seemed filled with advertisements.

"Perhaps he is given to faint turns," he said to himself. "Well, this Hildick air will soon do him good."

#  Chapter Four

### Footsteps?

WHEN the doctor returned to the castle he found old Mr. Norris sitting on a wooden seat in the castle yard.

"Come along, sir, and rest yourself, Doctor," he said. "You've come a bit too quick up the hill. You are not used to hills like ours, I expect. It's made you a bit white-looking, I think."

Norman Forester sat down beside him, and the old man was anxious to know what he thought of Hildick. The doctor praised it warmly, and said he had been struck by the number of old people he had seen as he passed through the village. As a medical man he concluded that this must be a healthy place.

"You're right there, sir. We don't have many funerals here, and those we have are mostly of old people. Auntie Betty, as we call her, on the hill there, is over ninety, and so is Auntie Emma down in the village; and you'll find many that are over eighty. We don't live fast here like you do in your towns and cities, and so we live longer. My old grandmother was nearly a hundred when we laid her in the churchyard."

"There is another thing which struck me in the village," said Forester, "and that is the cleanliness of the whole place. There is not a sign of dirt in the cottages; everything is spick and span."

"That's the Dutch blood in them," said old Mr. Norris. "Hundreds of years ago a colony of Flemings settled here under the protection of the king, and Garroch is full of their descendants. I would say Garroch has fewer dirty houses than any village in England or in Wales. You can see the Dutch features in some of the people too, especially some of the old ones."

The twin girls, Hawthorn and May, now came through the courtyard gate followed by a pet lamb which came after them like a dog, and went with them into the house.

"That lamb's mother died when he was born," Mr. Norris explained, "and we've given him the bottle ever since. The children make no end of a fuss with him, and he wants to go wherever they go. He's a great pet with everybody is Jemmy, and he comes running whenever we call his name."

"Dinner isn't ready, grandpa," said Hawthorn, as she ran out again, still followed by the lamb. "I do want it, I'm so hungry."

"Have patience," said the old man. "Have patience, child. My old granny used to say to me when I sat in her chimney-corner: 'Patience is a virtue, never will it hurt you.'"

Forester laughed. "My mother gave me a different version," he said. "When I was in too great a hurry for anything, she said, 'Patience is a virtue, catch it if you can; seldom in a woman, never in a man!'"

"Run and look if your father's coming, Hawthorn. Go to the gate and look across the field," said her grandfather, smiling.

He was coming, and so was dinner, and soon they were all in their places round the table, with the pet lamb lying on the rug before the fire.

"Well, and what did that antiquarian say to you, Rupert?" asked his father.

"Not much. He was full of that friend of his who is coming tonight. It seems he's an artist, and is going to paint a fine picture that's to make his fortune. He wants to be allowed to make sketches of one or two parts of the castle. I told him I didn't think there could be any objection to his doing that."

"It's more than he would have got out of me," said the old man sharply. "Do you think the Sinclair family, when they come, will want this artist chap fussing round the place, followed about by his prying friend the antiquarian?"

"Oh, he doesn't want to be in this part of the castle, father. He won't interfere with the Sinclairs. It's an interior he's going to paint, and he wants to sketch bits inside the turret, the old staircase, and some of the broken stonework of the windows. He'll bring a small sketchbook and just make rough copies of these, and then when he gets back to London he'll put them all together and make a big picture from them. I'm sorry you're vexed about it, father."

"Well, what's done is done," said the old man. "I don't so much mind if he doesn't have the antiquarian always at his heels."

"What is an antiquarian, grandpa?" asked Leonard.

"It's a man that pokes about after old things and comes where he isn't wanted," said the old man. "Does anyone know anything about him, Rupert? What's his name, do you know?"

"He gave me his card, father. Here it is." Rupert handed the card across the table.

"Oh, that's what he is," said old Mr. Norris, when he had examined it closely. "I see. He keeps a sort of second-hand shop, and goes and gives himself the airs of a lord, and says, 'I'm an antiquarian.' Antiquarian indeed!"

"He bought one or two things from the cottages and farms when he was here last," Rupert went on. "He's keen on anything like an oak chest, especially if it's carved a bit, and he'll give a lot of money for a bureau, as he calls it, a desk with a number of little drawers in it like yours, father, in the corner there. He'll be after that one soon, you see if he isn't. He'd give a good price for that, I would say."

"He'll be after it a long time before he gets it," said the old man with a chuckle. "Let him try, Rupert, let him try."

* * *

That afternoon Doctor Forester, with Maxie's help, pitched his tent. The place he chose was about half a mile from the castle itself, out on the breezy headland on which hundreds of sheep were grazing, and which covered the flat terrain on the top.

Here, with the sea on both sides of him, and with only the quiet sheep as companions, Forester felt he would have the stillness and solitude for which he longed. Even the few visitors to Hildick would hardly find the track to this out-of-the-way place which could only be reached by passing through the castle farm.

If he wanted to bathe he could get down to a quiet cove on the opposite side of the headland from Hildick Bay where he would meet none of the others, and which old Mr. Norris assured him he would have all to himself.

That evening the doctor set out to walk beyond his tent to the end of the headland to watch the sunset which promised to be a fine one. He made his way across the grass, cropped short by the large flock, and walked briskly over the headland beyond. The colouring in the golden evening light was superb. There were patches of yellow gorse; tufts of bright purple heather; blue hare bells that trembled in the breeze; clumps of bracken on which the autumnal tints were just appearing, and stretches of green moss interspersed with red sundew and white cotton grass.

It was a perfect feast to the eye, of every shade and variety of color. Forester noticed that the sea was practically all round him; to right, to left, and in front of him he could see the blue water with hardly a ripple on it. He was making his way through the gorse bushes to stand on the end of the headland, when at the foot of one of them something caught his eye. Involuntarily he stooped down and gathered it. It was a sprig of pure white heather.

A short time ago he would have been delighted to find it, but what good was white heather to a man who had no one to whom he could give it? Still, he held it in his hand until he had climbed down the steep descent at the end of the point and was sitting on a rock which jutted out into the water.

The sun had set now. The golden light was gone, and the sea looked dark and leaden. He took his sprig of white heather and threw it into the water, and the receding tide carried it far out to sea.

Then Forester retraced his steps and made his way back to the castle. It was growing dark and chilly when he got in, and he was glad to go to his snug place in the chimney-corner. The old man gave him a kindly welcome. The twins had gone to bed, and their elder brother Leonard was sitting at the table doing his lessons by the light of the lamp. His father Rupert was out, going round the farm buildings to see that his livestock were all right for the night. About nine o'clock they heard the click of the courtyard gate and knew that Rupert was returning. In a few minutes he came in, and Mary began to lay the supper.

"Father," said Rupert to old Mr. Norris, "what have you done with the outhouse key?"

"Nothing," said the old man. "I went in there this morning with the doctor. He wanted to see the loft, but I found the door open."

"Well, the key's gone. I can't find it anywhere. I did a stupid thing last night. What with the rain, and then going to meet the bus and getting back home so late, I forgot to lock up outside. So whether the key was there then I don't know. Anyhow, it's gone now."

"Never mind," said the old man. "What's the use of bothering about it? There's nothing of value in there. Just a few old tools and nails, and a heap of rubbish. There's your bike. Bring that inside. But there's nothing else worth taking, and if there was we're safe enough here. If you'll believe me, sir," he added, turning to Forester, "there's never been such a thing heard of as a burglary at Hildick. All the old ladies in the village go to bed and never trouble to lock their doors. Everybody knows everybody else, and we're like one family, as you may say."

Soon after this the doctor said he was tired and would be glad to go to bed. The corridor looked less weird to him now that he had become familiar with it, and he felt sleepy with the sea air and inclined to rest -- undisturbed by ghosts of any kind whatever.

It was not until the noisy clock in the corridor had insisted on it being three o'clock that he woke with a start, as though some other noise had disturbed him. He sat up in bed and listened, but heard nothing, and he came to the conclusion that it was only the striking of the clock which had woken him. He lay down and had almost fallen asleep when he again became conscious of a noise, and he sat up once more.

The sound was not overhead this time, but seemed to come from the wall in one corner of his room, and just behind the washstand. He crept out of bed quietly, put his ear to that part of the wall, and listened.

Again it was the sound of footsteps, at least he thought so, and they seemed to be descending a flight of stairs, for the noise grew gradually fainter. Every now and then the steps paused, and after a moment or two went on again. Then he fancied he heard a door below gently closed, and after that all was still.

Forester's curiosity was considerably roused by what he had heard. There seemed to him to be some mystery in the castle, of which the Norrises who lived in it were evidently not aware. If he had been staying there longer he would have tried to discover what it was, but as this was his last night here, he did not see much chance of finding out the cause of the sounds. He contented himself with asking old Mr. Norris at breakfast the next morning whether there was any other staircase leading into the loft besides the one up which he had taken him the day before.

"No, sir," said Mr. Norris, "that's the only way up, and there never was another that I know of."

"And that turret is close to the great entrance gate, is it not?"

"Yes, sir, it touches it almost. It's the way the guards went up in the olden time."

"Then there's no staircase anywhere near the room I slept in last night?"

"None at all, sir."

"What is there near that room? If I could make a hole, say behind the washstand, what would I come to?"

"You'd come to one of the old turrets of the castle which has been built into the farmhouse. My father had a large family and wanted more room, so he built a small bedroom out at the back, and the turret comes in the corner of it. Come upstairs and I'll show you."

The old man led the way into the little back bedroom, and Forester saw the round outer wall of the turret just as he had described it.

"Then my room joins this room just here," he said, pointing to the corner where the turret stood.

"Yes, behind your washstand is a curious kind of wainscoting, not like the panelling downstairs. It is not wood, but more like strong basketwork, and behind that is the outer wall of the castle with this turret in it."

"Are there any steps inside this turret, as there are in the one by the gate?"

"None, sir. It's all solid masonry."

"You are sure of that?"

"Quite sure."

Forester was much puzzled. He felt convinced that he had heard footsteps the night before, and they had sounded to him as if they were in that corner. Yet surely old Mr. Norris ought to know.

As soon as breakfast was over the doctor went to his tent, for he knew the Norrises at the castle would be busy preparing for the arrival of the Sinclair family whom they expected that evening. He felt sorry to leave his comfortable quarters, but he would still see a good deal of the castle and its occupants, for he would have to fetch water from the tap in the castle yard every day. There was a pond on the headland, but the water was not pure enough for drinking, though he thought he should be able to use it for washing.

They all begged him to come in whenever the weather was bad or he felt at all lonely, and old Mr. Norris assured him that a seat in the chimney-corner would ever await him.

Now the life of solitude of which he had dreamed was to begin, but somehow or other he did not enter on it with enthusiasm. He even felt a pang of regret as the courtyard gate closed behind him and he went out to begin his hermit life. Camping seemed pleasant enough when the weather was fine and when a number of friends were together, but it seemed a different matter altogether now he was alone.

The loneliness of the place oppressed him, while the voices of the sheep grew more and more monotonous. He wandered over the headland and gazed at the sea, and watched the clouds and listened to the cries of the seabirds until all these palled on him. He simply yearned for the sound of a human voice.

He determined to go down to the bay, look for his old schoolfellow Don Mainwaring, join the happy group on the sands and endeavour to drive away the awful depression which was settling on him. He got up from his camp chair, walked down the hill to the village, and climbed one of the sand dunes to see where everyone was. He saw the two sister, Mab and Dolly Mainwaring, sitting on the rocks reading, while Don Mainwaring and Doris Somerville were wandering along together by the sea.

Presently they stopped, and he watched them playing at ducks and drakes in the quiet water. He could hear Doris's merry laugh as her stone made five, six, seven hops. He could hear Don say, "Well done, Doris, but I'll be even with you yet."

Somehow or other Forester felt that he had not the heart to go down and join them. Who was he, that he should bring a shadow on that merry party? He would go back to his tent and to his solitude.

As he passed the castle on his return he saw a coach and two horses, laden with luggage, standing outside. The Sinclair family was evidently arriving. He wondered how many there were of them, and whether they would be likely to find their way to the headland, which he was suddenly inclined to look on as his private property.

* * *

If the tent was lonely by day, it was infinitely more so by night. His small oil lamp flickered in the breeze; the moths came whirling round it and committed suicide down the narrow chimney; the dim light tried his eyes, and after a time he closed the book he was reading. As he did so, two lines of a hymn which his mother had taught him when he was a boy, flashed into his mind. As clearly as if her voice had repeated them to him he seemed to hear her saying:

"While place we seek or place we shun,

The soul finds happiness in none."

What was the end of the verse? He could not remember. He would think of something else; he would get his supper and go to bed.

But as he lay on his narrow camp bed, and listened to the flapping of the tent walls, to the cries of the owls, and to the croaking of the frogs in the pond on the headland, still over and over the words kept repeating:

"While place we seek or place we shun,

The soul finds happiness in none."

And still he puzzled himself as to the ending of the verse. But at last the sleep for which he had been longing blotted out even this remembrance.

#  Chapter Five

### The Old Watchtower

THE doctor woke the next morning to find the rain coming down in torrents. The canvas of the tent was soaked, and the whole place felt damp and chilly. He opened his tent door to get a little fresh air, but the rain came driving in and he had to close it again.

It was hard work preparing his lonely breakfast. The paraffin stove was giving out a horrible smell which filled the tent long before the kettle had boiled. Then he found he had forgotten to bring any milk from the farm the night before, and he thought with longing of the steaming, fragrant coffee which Mary Norris would be pouring out in the comfortable castle kitchen.

However, he made the best meal he could under the circumstances, did his washing-up with as few groans as possible, and prepared to face his second day of solitude.

He looked out once more from the tent door, but thick mists prevented his seeing anything. No sound was to be heard except that of the pouring rain. Even the sheep had moved away and crept for shelter under the wall of a ruined cottage which stood in the midst of the headland.

Forester sighed to himself as he thought what a long day it would be, for he saw no prospect of the weather improving. He had filled one of the new portmanteaus with books to wile away the long hours of solitude, and he took one out and began to read. But the story was not exciting, and he found little in it to interest him. He repeatedly looked at his watch, but this only seemed to make the time pass more slowly.

At length when it was about eleven o'clock, and when he felt as if he had lived a lifetime since he got up that morning, he suddenly jumped up from his chair saying to himself that he could stand it no longer. He made up his mind to put on his mackintosh and walk down to the village. It would kill a little time at any rate.

Forester turned in at the castle gate in order to leave his water can in the courtyard, so that he could fill it on his return. He crept quietly in, shutting the gate softly behind him, for he felt sure that if the Norrises saw him they would press him to go into the house \--and he was afraid that the thought of a seat on the settle in that warm chimney-corner might be too great a temptation to resist. He knew that the Norrises would be busy with their new lodgers the Sinclairs, and he did not like to intrude.

Norman Forester was well aware of just how sensitive he was where the feelings of others were concerned, and he had a dread of being a burden on anyone. So he went past the kitchen window without so much as glancing at the bright firelight within, and hurriedly returned to the gate. Then he made his way in driving rain and through plenty of mud to the road which led down the hill. What he was going to do in the village he had no idea. He had enough food to last him until the next day, so there was no shopping to be done, and beyond the bare necessaries of life there was nothing whatever to be bought in the tiny Hildick shop.

But the yearning to hear a human voice was so strong that he determined to turn into the post office and buy some stamps. He did not want any; there was no one to whom he wished to write; but stamps would always keep until they were wanted.

He stayed in the shelter of the little shop as long as possible, but the postmistress was not of a talkative disposition, and beyond a certain point he found it impossible to prolong the conversation. A few remarks on the weather and on the number of visitors in Hildick were all that he could extract from her, and after these topics were exhausted he had no excuse for remaining any longer.

When Forester came out into the rain again, he thought he would walk up the village street in the opposite direction to that in which he had gone the day before. He found that the houses were few in number, but they all had small gardens in front of them glorious with sunflowers, dahlias and fuchsias, enclosed by low walls covered with white lime-wash which gave the whole village an exceedingly clean appearance.

He had not walked far before he met a man in a long white mackintosh and gray cap, who was fighting his way against the wind and rain, and coming towards the post office. Before he came up to him, Forester recognized him. It was his old schoolfellow and friend, Jack Mainwaring. He would have known him anywhere by his tall upright figure, his curly brown hair, his handsome features, and the merry twinkle in his clear blue eyes.

Jack Mainwaring had been the life and the soul of all the fun and merriment and sport at Repton; the captain at cricket and football, and the best athlete in the school. Norman Forester had been more successful in examinations than his friend, but Jack was the hero of the sports, and carried off a perfect armful of prizes at the end of them.

And now Jack was a parson! It was almost more than Norman Forester could believe. But there was nothing clerical in Jack's appearance or manner as he came forward with glad words of greeting.

"Well, old chap, I was just going in search of you. Isn't it good our meeting here after all these years? I was coming with a message from my mother, to insist on your spending the day with us at the Bank."

Forester, in his shrinking from being a nuisance to anyone, started to make excuses, but Jack Mainwaring stopped him.

"Now come, we shall take no refusal. Just think what we've got to talk about. Now you really must take pity on us. The girls are in the blues because it's a wet day, but if you come we'll have a real good old time. Doris and Uncle Richard are coming to tea, and we want you to help us to draw up a program of games and music, to keep us all in a good temper this wet day."

Forester felt he could not refuse this hearty invitation, and the two friends walked on to the house called the Bank, thoroughly happy in each other's society.

The day, which had begun so dismally, ended in being one of the most pleasant days he had ever spent. Mrs. Mainwaring was kindness itself, and made him feel at his ease at once. The young men found that the lapse of years had by no means cooled their friendship, and Mab and Dolly were as lively as their brothers, and prepared to join in all the fun. There was nothing stiff or formal about any of them, and Forester soon forgot his depression, thoroughly enjoying the merry, friendly talk going on around him.

In the afternoon Mr. Richard Somerville and his daughter Doris came in, and after tea the entertainment program, which they had prepared in the morning, was carried out.

As the doctor took part in the various games he felt years younger, and his laugh was soon as hearty and frequent as that of his light-hearted companions. Then, when they had come to the end of the games, they finished the evening with music.

There was a piano in the room, small in size but sweet in tone, and as all the Mainwarings and their cousin Doris Somerville were musical, they gave a varied selection of instrumental music, songs, duets and trios.

Norman Forester could not sing or play, but he thoroughly enjoyed music, and the evening seemed to fly on the wings of the wind. Doris Somerville had a lovely voice. It was not so powerful as Mab's, but it was clear as a bell, and had a sweetness in it which went straight to his heart as he listened to it. Her last song, by A. A. Proctor, haunted him for days afterwards. It began:

"Where are the swallows fled?

Frozen and dead,

Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore."

As Forester climbed the hill that evening, the charming face of the singer, her clear, trustful eyes, the soft tones of her voice, and, not least, the touching words of her song -- seemed to follow him all the way, for the song went on to admonish the doubting heart for not knowing that the swallows were safe in a sunny clime, ready to return when the time was right. Again, and yet again, he heard Doris Somerville singing the notes of comfort in the refrain of the last verse, and he felt as if she was bringing him a message of hope:

O doubting heart!

Thy sky is overcast,

Yet stars shall rise at last,

And angels' silver voices stir the air.

The literal stars were shining brightly as he neared the castle. The rain had stopped, and the moon was rising behind the hill. He went by the short cut across the fields, which he had taken with Rupert Norris on the night of his arrival. On the side of the hill were the ruins of the old watchtower of the castle, standing some hundred yards away from it. Here, in olden time, the men on guard could obtain a view of all the country round, and were thus able to raise the alarm in case of danger.

As Forester came up the field, climbing slowly, for the ascent was a steep one, he thought he saw two figures standing on the lonely watchtower, leaning over the low broken wall which ran round the top of it. It was getting late, about eleven o'clock, and he wondered who could be about at that time. The tower lay a little to the left of the path.

As he drew nearer he could distinguish the figures more distinctly, and he was disposed to cross the field and see whom they were. On second thoughts he concluded that they were probably two of the Sinclairs who had arrived at the castle the day before, and he felt that they might not care for him to go out of his way to speak to them.

Presently, however, as Forester looked behind him, he noticed that the two figures were following him, or at any rate, whether they had seen him or not, they were coming in the same direction and climbing up the hill towards the castle. When he came to the stile near the keep he waited for them to come up, but he waited in vain. They were evidently not making for the castle, so after some minutes he crossed the stile and went into the courtyard. His can was standing there by the tap, just where he had put it in the morning. He filled it and was going out, when Rupert Norris, who had heard the sound of footsteps, came to the door to see who was there.

"All right," shouted Norman Forester cheerily, "I'm only getting water. I hope I haven't disturbed anybody."

"Not a bit, sir. We haven't gone to bed. Come in and warm yourself. It's chilly after the rain."

"Not tonight, thank you. It's too late. I'll come in another time, if I may. Goodnight."

Forester went out the same way he had come in, leaving the courtyard by the stile, for he wished to discover if the two figures he had seen were still in the field, but they seemed to have completely disappeared. He went inside the keep, which looked weird and ghostly in the pale moonlight. The ferrets on the wall stirred in their cages; the bats flew around him; an owl came out from the ivy growing over an ancient fireplace far overhead, but he could see nothing else. So he went in the direction of his tent, carrying with him his heavy can of water.

He felt rather an outcast when he came to the lonely headland. All his ambition to be a hermit and a recluse had died. He decided that he was not intended by nature to lead a solitary life, and he comforted himself with the recollection that in the morning he would once more be in the midst of the people whom he had just left, and would be enjoying again their companionship and cheerful society.

#  Chapter Six

### The Strange Man

THE NEXT morning Forester was awakened, not by the rain beating mercilessly on his tent, but by cheerful voices outside it.

"Get up, you lazy fellow!"

"What are you doing, snoring away this fine morning?"

He jumped up, opened the tent door, and found Jack and Don Mainwaring outside.

"We're going to bathe," said Jack. "Come along, it will be glorious this morning."

"And hurry up," said Don, "for the tide is just on the turn."

"Well, give a fellow time to dress," said Forester, laughing. "Come in and sit down. I've only one chair, but one of you can sit on the bed."

Forester was soon ready, and with bathing towels thrown over their shoulders the three young men set off for the shore. They had not gone far when Forester stopped.

"Wait a minute," he said, "I've forgotten my cans. I must leave them at the castle, and get water and milk on my way back."

"Rubbish and nonsense!" said Don. "You're not going to do any such thing. Fancy climbing this hill after bathing, and before you've had any breakfast! Mother is expecting you at the Bank. She told us to bring you."

Forester, as usual, protested strongly, but it was a case of two against one, and the Mainwaring brothers got their way.

When they arrived at the castle they saw a curious looking man standing near it, gazing at the back windows of the farmhouse. He was tall, powerfully built with a red face, coarse features, a heavy moustache, and a most unpleasant expression on his face.

He was dressed in a flannel shirt, an old brown suit which seemed too small for him -- for it was short in the sleeves, and the trousers did not reach his boots -- a brilliant red tie, and a panama hat. But the most remarkable thing about this man was his hair, which was red in color, and was hanging over his neck and almost touched his shoulders. He was carrying a large flat book in one hand and a camp stool in the other.

"Whoever in the world is that?" said Jack, as they caught sight of him.

The man looked up quickly on hearing footsteps coming along the road, and immediately walked on. But they came on him again, staring up at the great gateway and examining the coat of arms emblazoned above it. He turned round as they came up.

"Good morning, gentlemen," he said. "Fine old castle this."

They gave him a civil answer and passed on.

"Depend on it, that's the artist," said Forester, "and he wears his hair long to make himself look gifted."

He then told the brothers about the antiquarian, and how he had announced that an artist friend of his was coming to make sketches of Hildick Castle.

As they went down the hill into the village they saw three young men in front of them, also making for the shore, carrying towels and bathing gear.

"The Sinclairs, who have just arrived at the castle, I expect," said Forester.

Don proposed that they should speak to them at once, as they would be always coming across them on the shore. So they hurried on, and soon caught up with them. They told them that they also were going to bathe and asked them to join them. The eldest Sinclair, Val, appeared to Forester to be almost twenty. He had fair hair, blue eyes, and a pleasant open countenance. The second brother Dick, who was about a year younger, had curly black hair; while the third, Billy, was a heavily-built lad of seventeen.

The six young men became the best of friends before the bathe was over, and agreed to repeat the early morning dip every day when the tide was favourable. They also unanimously decided to waive all ceremony, and call each other by their Christian names. From this time forward they all formed one party on the shore, and wherever Jack and Don Mainwaring and Norman Forester went, the brothers Val, Dick and Billy Sinclair went with them.

After breakfast at the Bank, Forester returned with his friends to the shore, and spent the day lounging on the sand, climbing over the rocks, exploring the many winding paths in the woods which came down to the water's edge, and sitting in the heat of the day chatting with Mab, Dolly and Doris.

Then in the evening, when it was growing cooler, they had a long walk inland. They went to an old castle about two miles away, standing close to the Llantrug road, which they had passed as they came to Hildick in the old bus.

As they came back they made their way through the sand dunes to the shore, and walked home across the firm, hard sand. The tide was just going out, and the shore was strewn with fairy-like sea urchins. Some of the white shells were empty and tenantless, and they picked them up and threw them into the waves, and watched them float away with the tide.

Jack and Don Mainwaring's sisters, Mab and Dolly, were the life of the party. As they walked along, they decided that some night they would light a fire on the shore, cook their own supper there, and eat it by the light of the flames. Val, Dick and Billy Sinclair fell in with the plan at once, and they settled to have this al fresco picnic some night in the following week.

Doris Somerville was quieter than her cousins, although she enjoyed a joke just as much as they did. But the Mainwaring sisters were just at the age when girls are simply brimming over with animal spirits. Every hill they saw they wanted to climb, every stream that ran down to the sea they must jump. There seemed to be no end to their energy or their strength.

Doris was older, and she had known trouble. Her mother had died two years before, and ever since then, though she was once again merry and bright, yet still she bore the marks of sorrow and was therefore full of sympathy with others.

Ever since she had travelled with him on the coach, Doris had felt sure, by a kind of empathy which those who suffer have with one another, that Norman Forester, as well as herself, had seen the shadow as well as the sunshine of life.

All through the day he had been as full of fun and jokes as his companions, but now when the younger ones had run to climb the fourth sand dune that they had come to, she and Forester fell behind on the shore and agreed that they were tired and would sit down until the others came back.

Then it was that Doris noticed the unhappy expression returning to his face, which seemed to say that life had little brightness in store for him. She glanced at him once or twice as he picked up a pebble and threw it into the water, but she did not like to be the first to break the silence. Of what was he thinking, as he gazed across the sea, with that grim expression on his face? His first words gave her no clue to his thoughts.

"Where's Jack?" he asked. "He hasn't come with us this evening."

"No, he's looking at his sermon. You know he is to preach here tomorrow."

The merry smile broke out again on Forester's face as he answered her. "Fancy Jack a parson!" he said. "Here he is in flannels and tennis shirt, looking exactly as he did when we all worshipped him on the cricket ground. And now I am to believe that he is a fully-fledged parson, and is going to get up in a pulpit tomorrow to talk to us about our sins!"

"Have you ever heard Jack preach?" asked Doris.

"No, never. What sort of preacher is he?"

Doris did not answer this question at once. Then she said, "I think when you do hear him, you will forget all about Jack, and only think about his message."

"His message?"

"Yes, from God," she said.

Then she changed the subject, and said, "You look better already for coming to Hildick, Doctor Forester. Isn't it a glorious little place?"

"Yes," he said, "it is indeed!" Then he laughed. "But I'm not leading the kind of life I meant to live here."

"What sort of life was that?"

"Why, I brought my tent and I was going to camp out far away from everybody, and I did not mean to speak to a soul all the time I was here."

"Why? Oh, don't tell me, if you would rather not," she said, noticing the young doctor color at the question.

"But I will tell you," he said. "It was because I had been a fool. Not a nice admission for a man to have to make, is it? I was utterly disgusted with the world and with everybody in it, and I meant to have done with it all -- at least for a time."

"Isn't that rather a sweeping condemnation?" said Doris.

"Well, perhaps it is, but when you've trusted somebody, and that person deceives you, and you find out you've made a big mistake, what then? Why, then it's best to run away from everyone. That's what I think. What's the good of making other people miserable by your company?"

Forester thought he would never forget to his dying day the look of sympathy in the clear, honest eyes that were turned to him for a moment. But at that moment the others were seen coming back, and Doris said nothing but, "Thank you."

Forester wondered what she meant by that. What had he done for her, or given to her, that she should thank him? He had given her a tiny bit of his confidence, that was all. Could it be that, for which she was grateful?

* * *

Rupert Norris was standing at the door of the castle when Norman Forester went into the courtyard that night to get his can of water. He had picnicked alone on the shore at midday. The Mainwarings had brought tea down to the rocks, and now he was going to get supper in his tent.

"My father does want you to come in, sir," said Rupert. "He has been asking all day why you never come near us, and supper is just ready. You enjoy must enjoy my wife Mary's rabbit stew."

Forester did not like to refuse, nor indeed could he resist the attraction of the savoury smell that greeted him in the doorway. Tinned meat is all very well when he could get nothing else, but it didn't bear comparison with rabbit stew, especially when made by such a good cook as Mrs. Norris had proved herself to be.

Old Mr. Norris gave him a warm welcome. He was sitting in the same place on the high-backed wooden settle, and beside him was a little girl about eight years old, dressed in a scarlet cap and jersey and a navy skirt, with a mass of beautiful curly brown hair hanging down her back.

"This is Miss Joyce Sinclair," said the old man. "She has been about the farm all day. They are carrying the hay, and she has been riding in the wagons, and driving them too. Haven't you, missy?"

"Yes," said the little girl, "and gathering the eggs, and feeding the chickens, and helping Mrs. Norris to milk."

"She loves animals," said the old man. "She has a sort of power over every creature, her father says, and she's afraid of nothing. You see, there are only the three Sinclair brothers and this little girl, nine years younger than any of them. She goes everywhere she can with them, plays their games, climbs trees, jumps her own height nearly, and is a regular little tom-boy."

"Joyce, why didn't you come on the shore with us?" asked Forester.

"I did go," said the child. "I went with Bruce and Victor."

"Who are Bruce and Victor?" asked the doctor.

"Our dogs. Haven't you seen them? I'll bring them in. They're darlings!"

Joyce ran out of the kitchen, and soon returned with two great collie dogs -- beautiful creatures with soft auburn hair, long drooping tails, bright brown eyes, and faces full of intelligence. They were evidently devoted to the child for they watched her every movement, and obeyed her every word. Then she took them for a race round the courtyard before going to bed. The supper was put on the table, and Forester sat down with his friends.

"Have you had the artist here?" he asked.

"Yes, and he's a strange customer," said the old man. "I don't believe he's an artist at all."

"My father's a suspicious man," said Rupert. "It's a wonder he let you sleep here on the night I brought you up to the castle. I had my doubts whether he would, and I saw him look hard at your card when you handed it to him."

The old man laughed. "Well, I don't think I'm wrong this time," he said. "I think he is a strange customer."

"I certainly don't like him," answered Forester.

"You have seen him, then, have you, doctor?"

"Yes, staring up at the castle this morning, when I was going down to bathe."

"Well, you and I are agreed," said the old man. "For I don't like him either."

"What has he been drawing?"

"Can't make up his mind, sir," said old Mr. Norris. "He has been wandering about all day, upstairs and downstairs, peering in this turret and that turret, looking here and looking there, and be hasn't settled on a place yet."

"Has the antiquarian been here too?"

"What, Clegg? No, I haven't seen any sign of him -- that's one blessing!"

"Have you found the loft key, Rupert?" Forester asked.

"Not yet, sir. I haven't had much time to look. We're getting the last of the hay in."

As they sat over the fire after supper, Forester once more returned to the subject of the artist and asked what his name was, and where he came from.

The old man looked up from the fire. "His name is De Jersey, so he says. It may be, or it may not be. He claims he is descended from the Huguenots, and is living now in Leamington. Again I say, he may be, or he may not be."

"Now, didn't I tell you father was a suspicious man?" said Rupert.

When, some time after this, Norman Forester said goodnight and went to his tent, he thought as he looked back at the castle that he saw a light in one of the narrow windows in the unoccupied part. Could the strange artist De Jersey be still at work?

But, even as he wondered, the light went out and the castle was left in darkness.

#  Chapter Seven

### Sunday at Hildick

FORESTER slept long and soundly, having no one to disturb him in his solitude. When he awoke his first thought was that it was Sunday, and that he was to hear Jack preach. He dressed quickly, for it was nearly ten o'clock, had a hasty breakfast and then went to the castle to ask what time the service would begin, as he had forgotten to inquire the night before.

To his surprise he found that there was no morning service in Hildick, but that his friend Jack would be at a village four miles off to take the service there, and he would only preach in Hildick in the evening.

Forester wished that he had known this before, for he would gladly have accompanied Jack on his long walk. As it was, there was nothing to be done but to wait until the evening, as it was far too late to walk to Carlington. He therefore determined to go down to the shore and spend the morning sitting on the rocks.

The shore was almost deserted. A few village boys were sitting on the shingle, and in the far distance he could see little Joyce Sinclair running with her dogs over the sand, but no one else was in sight. He wondered what had become of them all that lovely morning, and he inwardly groaned to think that he would have to spend it alone -- in spite of the fact that only a few days ago his aim had been to avoid company and live the life of a recluse.

He went up the path leading to the old church. It took him across a green sward, on which were growing beautiful trees, through the branches of which he could obtain views of the sea like bright pictures set in a leafy frame. Then he came to a gate, and passing through this he found himself in the ancient churchyard. The sea lay just beneath, and he could hear the waves dashing on the rocks below.

The graves were unlike any that he had seen before. There were no mounds, but they were level with the path, and each one was picked out with an edging of white stone in a shape that looked like the outline of a mummy's coffin. It gave the churchyard a most weird appearance. He found several old graves of the Norris family, but beyond these he saw little to interest him. He concluded that Martha must be the favourite name in Hildick, for on several of the stones he read the inscription:

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MARTHA

Then he walked round the old church which had stood on those rocks for seven hundred years or more. The door was locked, but he looked in through the window and saw that it was plain and unadorned. It appeared to be exceedingly dark, for the windows were small and the wall in which they were set was several feet in thickness. He thought of the many generations of men and women who had come up that tree-lined path to worship in the little church. They had passed away, and even the stones that marked their last resting place on earth had crumbled and fallen to pieces.

The whole place struck Norman Forester as rather dismal, yet never was any churchyard in a prettier spot. Standing as it did with deep woods above it, the rocky coast below, the blue sea beyond, with no sound to be heard in it but the song of the birds and the sound of gentle waves -- what more peaceful or picturesque resting-place could be found?

The doctor, however, was glad to come out into the sunshine again and climb down the rocks just outside the churchyard enclosure. The tide was low, so he made up his mind to walk round to the headland and climb to the top of it, thus returning to his tent without having to pass through the village or retrace his steps.

He was sauntering along, and a feeling of loneliness was once more stealing over him, when suddenly he caught sight of a shady straw hat just appearing above a rock in front of him. He walked on, wondering who it could be, and came upon Doris Somerville reading a book, and so intent on it that she did not hear him coming.

"Good morning, Miss Somerville. Please don't let me disturb you. What a comfortable seat you have found below that rock."

She looked round, smiling. "Yes, I've been sitting here a long time. It's too hot to walk much today."

"Is there room for me?" he asked. "But perhaps you want to read?"

"Oh no," said Doris, "I've been reading a long time, and I've finished my chapter."

"Where is everyone this morning, Miss Somerville? The shore seems deserted."

"They've all gone to Carlington with Jack. I meant to have gone too, but father was not well, and we had breakfast late. But he's all right again now, so I thought I would come down to the shore."

Norman Forester was playing absentmindedly with the pebbles beside him, throwing one from time to time into a little pool that the tide had left behind. His next remark sounded rather abrupt.

"Why did you say 'Thank you' last night?"

"Thank you?"

"Yes; when I told you I had made a fool of myself, you said 'Thank you.'"

"Oh, I remember," she said, blushing. "I was only glad you trusted me enough to tell me."

Such a grateful, pleased look came into his eyes with the words. But Doris quickly changed the subject. "Don't you like a Sunday in the country?"

"Yes, I suppose I do," he said. "I used to like it. I haven't cared much for Sundays at all, just lately."

"Why not?"

"Now, I'm going to trust you again," he said. "I've been like an instrument out of tune."

"Out of tune with Sunday?"

"Yes."

There was silence for some minutes after this. Norman Forester was gazing steadily out to sea, where a small boat was sailing along with the wind.

It was Doris who spoke first. "Isn't it a pity?" she said.

"What? To be the un-tuned instrument? Yes, I suppose it is. But I've been upset lately -- terribly upset -- and somehow I haven't cared for anything. I have been reckless, I think; ready to run anywhere or do anything to get away from my own thoughts. By the bye, do you know what it is to get a thing in your head and not to be able to remember it all? I've had the opening words in my head almost ever since I came here. My mother taught me them when I was a small child, but for the life of me I can't remember the end of the verse."

"What is it?" said Doris. "Tell me the beginning, and perhaps I can help you."

"'While place we seek or place we shun, the soul finds happiness in none.'"

She smiled. "This is the end: 'But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay.'"

"Of course it is," said Forester. "I remember it now."

Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of footsteps, and two men passed them. They never noticed the doctor and Doris, who were still sitting in the shelter of the rock, but went on with their conversation which was evidently a heated one. The doctor saw at once that they were the antiquarian Clegg and his artist friend De Jersey. They were both talking in loud, angry voices.

"I tell you, it's not enough," said the artist.

"Enough? It's a great deal too much," returned the other. "All that money, and a big percentage when the job's finished!"

Forester could hear no more, for the men had passed on.

"What horrid-looking men!" said Doris.

"Yes; don't you recognize one of them?"

Doris looked again. "Of course. The short one is the thin-lipped man that sat next you on the coach."

"The same," said Forester. "He and his friend are up to something at the castle. What it is I can't make out, but I mean to keep my eye on them both."

* * *

Later that day old Mr. Norris informed Forester that if he wanted a seat he would have to be there an hour before the time for service, because the little church on the rocks was well filled on Sundays at all times of the year. In summer, when the visitors were in Hildick it was, he said, full to overflowing. The doctor took this information with a large grain of salt, but he thought he would go down the hill and sit on the rocks near the church until the last bell began to ring.

However, he found a stream of people pouring into the tiny church as soon as the doors were opened, and on second thoughts he decided to follow them.

It was well he did, for the church was already full, and chairs were being let down by a rope from a trapdoor in the bell tower to fill up the tiny aisle. He saw his friend Rupert Norris in the choir, and the Mainwarings, Sinclairs, and Somervilles were sitting near the door. Leonard Norris and several other boys were placed in a row on the steps of the chancel, in order to make more room for the adults.

A chair was put for the doctor by a tall man who he concluded was the verger, and he found himself between Don Mainwaring and little Joyce Sinclair. Joyce smiled at him as he sat down, and then took him under her wing during the service, letting him look over her hymnbook, finding the places for him with great determination, and pushing her footstool towards him so that he could share it with her.

The singing was grand -- at least, he thought so. He surmised that a critically musical ear would no doubt detect many notes out of tune, and discover mistakes and faults of manifold kinds. But he did not profess to be musical, and the thorough heartiness of the congregation charmed him beyond measure. Everyone was singing; men, women, and children were all taking their part; and it would have been difficult for anyone in the church to resist the infectious earnestness which seemed to pervade the whole place.

When Jack went into the pulpit, a hush fell on the little congregation as he rose from the prayer and stood to give out his text. There was a moment's pause while Jack was rallying his forces. He was finding it a trying ordeal to stand up and preach to his mother, to his brother and sisters, to his uncle who was sitting all attention just in front of him, and above all to Norman Forester, his schoolfellow and friend, who had always been far more clever than he was.

That feeling was only for a moment. In the next, Jack Mainwaring had forgotten everyone in the church, and only remembered the presence of the One whose servant he was, the Lord and Master in whose strength and for whose sake he was going to speak, whose consecrated message of love he had been sent to deliver.

There was no trembling in Jack's voice when he began. Clearly and distinctly the words of his text fell on Forester's ear and rang through the old church.

"'We have known and believed the love that God hath to us.'"

It was a simple sermon based on 1 John 4:16, with no pretence to eloquence or flowery speech. But its simplicity, its downright earnestness, carried his hearers with him throughout it all. He began by quoting two lines of a hymn which, he said, his family all loved, and had known since they were children:

And with my God to guide my way,

'Tis equal joy to go or stay.

He spoke of the great depth of the sea, and of the mystery of the mighty waters which in places no man had fathomed or explored. He showed how, in like manner, the love of God had depths of which none of them knew anything; mysteries of mercy and goodness and loving-kindness which no one could explain in this life, nor possibly in the life to come.

And then Jack suddenly changed his simile, and he made them see the love of God as a cable sent to draw them into the everlasting glory above. He showed them that the cable was a threefold cord, composed of three distinct and wonderful strands.

"The first strand is the love of God the Father, who, seeing us without a chance of anything in the future except reaping the consequences of sin, looks down on us with infinite pity, and loves us with such mighty love that He gives His Son, His only Son, for us.

"The second strand is the love of the Lord Jesus Christ, who for us men and for our salvation left the throne for the manger, the adoration of angels for the contempt of sinful man; and who, after being despised and rejected by the ones He came to save, actually laid down His life to pay the penalty of our sin.

"The third strand is the love of the Holy Spirit, striving with us day by day, bearing with us in all our disobedience, doing His utmost to bring us to see the love of the Father, to accept the love of the Son."

Jack reminded them that a threefold cord cannot be broken, and that this cable of love, the love of Father, Son, and Spirit, is an Almighty cable -- able to rescue, able to save, able to draw each one of them into eternal glory.

But it was the end of the sermon which seemed to go straight to Forester's heart.

"The verse says, 'We have known and believed the love.' Have we?" Jack asked. "Have I? Have you? Can you change the pronoun and say, I have known; I have believed? By my own personal experience I have tested that love and found it unfailing. I have known and believed the love of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit."

A final hymn and then the congregation dispersed quietly. They came out to find a beautiful sunset sky, and everyone went down to the shore and walked along the water's edge. The Sinclairs, Mainwarings, and Somervilles all formed one party, and Forester joined them.

They seemed quite a crowd as they started together on the beach, but it is in the nature of crowds to disperse, and soon they were scattered all over the shore -- the younger ones far ahead, and the others coming at a more leisurely pace behind.

Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair had begun their married life in India, and as Mr. Somerville, Doris's father, had also lived there for many years, they found that they had several friends in common. Jack, who was a great lover of children, had gone up the hill with little Joyce to fetch her dogs, so that they could have a run on the sands before being shut up for the night. The rest of the young people walked on quickly together to the other side of the bay.

The tide was coming in fast, and washing to land a variety of things: long pieces of sugar-cane, old bottles, seaweed of many different kinds, driftwood, shells and sea urchins were coming to shore on the busy waves. Doris stopped to watch a curious object floating a little way out on the tide.

"It looks like a shoe," she said.

It was a sabot, a wooden shoe thrown overboard from some French boat. Forester stopped with her, and they waited patiently, until at last with a merry laugh she pulled it out of the water.

"I wonder who wore that old thing," she said. "Isn't it quaint? I shall take it home as a curiosity."

Forester carried it for her, and they went on towards the cliffs at the head of the bay. By this time the others were considerably ahead of them, so once more he found himself alone with Doris.

"You were quite right," he said.

"What, about that being a shoe?"

"No, about Jack's sermon. I forgot all about Jack himself."

"I knew you would," she answered.

"Doris, I feel tonight as if I would give all I possess to change places with Jack."

"Do you?" she said. "I wonder if you would really change with him. Do you know where Jack lives? I went once to see him. We found him in a bleak back street. He has to live there to be near his own people. And his landlady! Such a slovenly woman. She can cook a chop fairly well, but nothing else, I believe."

Norman Forester looked thoughtful. "Tell me more," he said.

"His room is small and dark, and looks out on a blank wall. In there Jack grinds away at his sermons, and is at the beck and call of all the people round. He can never take off his boots in the evening and settle into a chair by the fire and feel that work is done. They come to him at all hours of the day and night. Now it's a baby to be baptized, now a dying person to be visited, now somebody out of work who wants a character reference written, or somebody else who wants new boots or something of that sort."

"Not a very enjoyable sort of life, I would imagine."

"No, you wouldn't think so, but Jack is lively enough. I never saw anyone enjoy life more. He is in the best of spirits the whole time, and won't let any of us say that it's a hard life."

"In fact," said Forester, laughing, "that verse I was trying to remember is an exact description of me and of Jack. The first two lines are Norman Forester: 'While place we seek or place we shun, the soul finds happiness in none.' And the last two lines are Jack Mainwaring: 'But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay.'"

Doris did not answer, but asked him how he liked the Hildick singing, and the conversation drifted into other channels. The others soon turned round, forming one party again, and as it was fast growing dark they hurried homewards.

#  Chapter Eight

### A Midnight Visitor

THERE was one great event in the next week, and that was the supper on the shore. It was arranged to take place on Mab Mainwaring's birthday which fell on the Wednesday. Great were the preparations for that supper. The young people climbed up the steep, wooded hill collecting dry pieces of wood and numbers of fir cones, which they piled in a great heap on the shingle.

Then, when the eventful day arrived, there was much excitement over the arrangements for the evening's repast. Val, Dick and Billy Sinclair got up early, went out shooting with Rupert Norris, and brought back some rabbits as their contribution to the supper. They would accept no help in skinning or cleaning them, for the whole entertainment was to be prepared by the young people themselves.

As soon as it began to grow dark they lit the great fire, and the girls, armed with frying pans, saucepans and kettles, were soon busily at work. They boiled potatoes, fried sausages, poached eggs, stewed mushrooms, and made rounds of buttered toast. But the rabbits formed the highlight of their culinary performances. These were cooked entirely by Val and Dick Sinclair, who carefully seasoned the gravy, added an onion, parsley, and other herbs, mace, pepper, and all manner of condiments, to make their dish savoury and tempting.

The older people came down to see them, and were persuaded to taste some of the dishes. But long after they had gone home the younger ones sat round the cheerful blaze.

"Mab's birthday only comes once a year," said Don, "so we must make the most of it, and let it last as long as we can."

They had a concert as they sat round the fire that night -- one merry song after another, followed by grand choruses in which the whole party joined.

Suddenly Doris laid her hand on Forester's arm. "Look, there are those two horrid men!" she whispered.

The doctor looked up quickly and could just distinguish two figures standing some little distance from the fire, evidently watching all that was going on.

Val Sinclair saw them too, and he said, "I vote we make a move. The fire's dying down, and there is old Sly-boots staring at us."

"Who in the world is Sly-boots?" asked Jack Mainwaring, who had seen no one.

"Oh, that's the name my brother Dick has given to that so-called artist's friend. Come along, let's pack up. I hate to be stared at, especially by him."

"Do you see much of that artist?" asked Forester, as he walked up the hill to the castle with the Sinclairs.

"See him? Why, he haunts the place. I detest him," said Dick. "When we explore about among the ruins we're sure to come on either him or Sly-.boots. They keep well out of old Norris's sight, though. I often see them hiding in dark corners when they think he's about."

"Have you seen any of the artist's pictures?"

"No, I haven't; and I don't believe there are any to see," said Dick. "He scribbles away in a book, but I don't think there's much drawing about it."

"What are they after at the castle? That's what I want to know," said Forester. "I'm certain they're up to some mischief. Just you fellows keep an eye on them, will you? I don't like to say much to the Norrises, though I'm sure old Mr. Norris doesn't care to have them about the place. But Rupert seems to think it's all right, so there they remain, and I don't want to alarm the Norrises without cause. Who sleeps in the room I slept in?"

"Which was that?"

"The one with a big four poster bed in it."

"Oh, dad and mother sleep there. We're in the back bedrooms. Have you been into them?"

"Yes, once. Mr. Norris took me. Who sleeps in that odd room that looks onto the farmyard, with the turret in the corner of it?"

"Dick and Billy sleep there," said Val. "I'm in the one that looks out the same way as the courtyard gate."

"No ghosts in the castle, I suppose?" said Forester.

"Not that I know of," said Val, laughing. "Dick and Billy say they hear noises, but I expect it's only the horses in the stable."

"What kind of noises?"

"Oh, footsteps, and people creeping about. It's all rubbish, though. They're as nervous as girls!"

"We're not nervous," said Dick indignantly who was walking close behind. "But I want to know what those noises are. I'll find out one fine day. You see if I don't."

"Or one wet night," suggested Val. "Well, don't wake me, that's all."

Norman Forester told the boys that he believed what Dick had said, for when he slept in the castle he had been awakened by footsteps both nights, and they sounded to him as if they were close to the room in which he was. He fancied they came from the turret which was between the two bedrooms. He advised them to ask old Mr. Norris about it.

"So I did," said Dick, "but he wouldn't listen. He said no footsteps ever went about his house at night, and he wanted me to believe it was rats I heard. As if I couldn't tell the difference between the sound of the scuttling of rats and people going up and down stairs!"

"What did Rupert Norris say?"

"Oh, Rupert only laughed and said it was a ghost. But I'll find out some day. I've got a clue, and I'm working it out by degrees."

Forester was more convinced than ever that something mysterious was going on in the castle, and he hoped that Dick would soon be successful in discovering what it was.

He did not linger on at the castle, though the old man was at the door and pressed him to go in. A tremendous wind had risen, and he was afraid that he might find his tent lying flat on the ground. However, to his great joy it was all right when he came up to it. He went carefully round it, tightening the cords and hammering in extra pegs, in preparation for the night of storm which seemed to be before him.

He went to bed, but for some time he found it impossible to sleep. The wind was blowing directly from the sea. It howled across the headland; it shrieked among the trees of the wood; it whistled through the hedge under the shelter of which he had encamped; it made the tent pole creak and the canvas shake and the ropes strain. It sounded as if all the spirits of evil were let loose to inflict their vengeance on any who might be in their way.

But the doctor was tired and sleepy, and after a time even the wind, noisy and angry and tumultuous though it was, failed to keep him awake. He was roused, however, by another sound which startled him more than the wild fury of the elements. It was the sound of a voice close to the canvas walls of his tent.

"Doctor, doctor," said the voice.

Forester sprang up, and at first could not remember where he was. Was he in his flat at West Kensington, and was this his good old housekeeper Mrs. Timmis who had come to tell him that the night bell had rung, and that some patient had sent for him?

Again came the call. "Doctor, I say, doctor."

No, that was not the mild, gentle voice of his old housekeeper. It was the rough voice of a man. And he was not in his comfortable bedroom in West Kensington, but in a bare tent out on the lonely headland.

"Doctor! Wake up, will you? Doctor, I say!"

"Who's there?" demanded Forester in an angry voice.

A terrible gust of wind, coming at that moment, drowned the answer.

"Who are you, and what are you doing here at this time of night?"

"Doctor," said the voice, and again came words which Forester could not distinguish. He got out of bed, lit his lamp, and shouted through the canvas, "What do you want?"

There was a slight lull in the storm, and he could hear the answer now. "Doctor, I want you to come and see my old dad. He's pegging out fast."

"Why do you come to me?" asked Forester. "Go for your own doctor."

"Haven't got one. There isn't one here."

"No doctor?"

"No, none at all under a matter of five miles or more, and my old dad's dying."

"Wait a minute," shouted Forester, as the wind once more returned in fury. "I can't hear you. Come inside, and be quick about it or we'll have the tent down."

Forester unfastened the tent door and his night visitor slipped inside. He eyed him carefully as the light of the lamp fell on him. The visitor was a short, heavy man, with a red bloated face, an unkempt beard, and small rat-like eyes. He wore an old sealskin cap, a rough coat, dirty corduroy trousers, and long fisherman's boots. He had a short clay pipe in his mouth, and he kept it there when he entered the tent.

"Now then," said Forester, "tell me what you mean by coming and disturbing me at this time of night."

"Beg pardon, sir," said the man, more civilly, "but the old man's dying, and somebody has got to come and see him, else if anything happens we shall have to have an inkwitch, and I don't want none of them there inkwitches at our house."

"Again, I say, why don't you fetch the nearest doctor?"

"How can I go a night this like?" said the man indignantly. "And how can I leave the old chap alone? He'll be dead by the time I get back."

"Well, get a neighbour to sit with him until you return."

"Haven't got no neighbours," growled the man, "and I don't want no neighbours neither. We don't belong to these 'ere parts, and there ain't any house anywhere near. Besides, if I go for yon doctor over there, the old man will be gone long afore he gets here, and we'll have to have that inkwitch."

"Now look here," said Forester, "stop worrying about an inquest. What good can I do your father, even if I come with you? I have bandages and dressings, but no medicine to give him, and none of my surgical instruments with me. I can only just look at him, and what good on earth will that do?"

"Come, anyhow, and see," urged the man. "Maybe there's something you can do if you try, and anyhow, it'll save that there inkwitch."

Forester did not like to refuse, though he did not at all relish the idea of a midnight walk with this individual. Rogue and villain were written all over his face, and the prospect of going out with him into the darkness was anything but inviting. But he told the man that if he would wait outside for a few moments while he dressed, he would come with him to see his father.

He hastily put on his clothes and went outside to find his rough and unpromising-looking guide lying on the ground on the sheltered side of the tent, smoking. He jumped up when he saw the doctor and led the way, but did not vouchsafe a single word of thanks.

It was a dark night, and there was not a star to be seen. The wild wind was bringing up heavy clouds from the sea, and they had not gone far when the rain began to fall in torrents. Where they were going, Forester had no idea. The man seemed to be taking him in an opposite direction to that in which the castle lay, across the open headland.

The doctor had difficulty in making his way through the furze bushes which grew thickly on that part of the common. Then they seemed to him to be passing down a long and narrow lane. The light in his lantern burned dimly, but he could just discern high hedges on either side, and a heavy muddy road in which were great cart ruts and large pools of water.

On they plodded over the heavy ground, their feet sinking deeply into the mud. After crossing a stile, and his guide led the way across an open field. The wind and the rain were so strong here that for some time they made little progress. Forester took care that his guide walked in front of him, so that by the light of his lantern he could keep him well in view. Was this a plot to rob or perhaps murder him? Or was it a real case of need?

They had been walking on for about half an hour, not speaking a word to each other, for the noise of the wind was so great that conversation was impossible. They had climbed several stiles, walked across fields of stubble or short grass, and had tramped through more than one muddy lane, when Forester began to be conscious that the rocky path on which they were walking was going steeply downhill.

"Are we nearly there?" he shouted to the man in front.

"Yes, not far now," he called back. "Come along, doctor."

Forester was following him more slowly. What would he see when their goal was reached? Soon after this he heard the noise of waves beating on the rocks and he knew they were now close to the sea.

"Here we are," said his guide at length, as he lifted the latch of a small gate and led the way into a garden.

And now Forester could see a light shining from the window of a little cottage close at hand. His guide opened the door, and he followed him into a small, low kitchen. Old beams ran along the ceiling, covered with smoke and cobwebs, and a table with a few dirty cups and plates on it stood in the middle of the room. There was little furniture of any kind. Two broken chairs, an old horsehair sofa, and a wooden stool were all that the cottage contained, with the exception of a low wooden bedstead drawn up to the fire, on which, half sitting, half lying, was an old man with long gray hair. His eyes were closed and he was apparently unconscious. Forester went up to him, felt his pulse, and listened to his breathing. "I have a thermometer, and I will take his temperature, but I can do little more."

He gently inserted the thermometer into the old man's mouth.

"Has he any pain?" Forester asked.

"Awful. He's had it most of three days."

"Where?"

The man pointed to the old man's chest: "Catches him like, when he breathes," he said.

"Why didn't you get a doctor?"

"Don't know," said the man shortly. "Didn't think it was anything serious. Old dad often has bad turns."

"What made you come for me then?"

"Well, he began shaking, and then he turned deadly like and said as how he was a-going to die. And then he began to breathe short, and I thought maybe he was. Then after that, he never spoke again."

"But why did you come to me? What do you know about me? How could you tell I was a doctor?"

"Saw you come the other night getting off the coach, and helped to carry your bags into the post office. There was a luggage tag on one of 'em, and it said, Doctor Forester. Says I, 'You've come to these 'ere parts to camp out, Doctor Forester; that's what you've come to do. I wonder where you're a-going to pitch this 'ere tent.' A couple of days later I went across the headland yonder, and saw you and old Maxie a-putting of it up."

"Now listen," said Forester, "your father's very ill, very ill indeed. He has inflammation of the lungs as far as I can make out, but I can't examine him properly. I've no stethoscope with me. I have checked the thermometer, and he has a high temperature. You must go and get a doctor immediately. He's unconscious now, but it's only a bad faint caused by the pain. He'll be able to speak again presently."

Even as he said this the old man opened his eyes and began to groan as if in great agony.

"Are ye better, dad?" said the man.

"No, Daniel, no better -- no better at all. I can't last much longer, I think."

"Oh, I don't know about that," said Forester, in the kind, pleasant voice in which he always spoke to his patients. "When the doctor comes we will see what is the matter with you, and what we can do for you."

"Who are you?" asked the old man, looking at him for the first time.

"He's yon doctor in the tent," said Daniel. "Him as I told you about. But he hasn't got any of his tools here, so he can't do much good -- so he says."

"No, I can't. You must go for the nearest doctor at once," said Forester firmly. "Now then, can you get someone to stay with the old man?"

"I told you, there's nobody anywhere near," Daniel answered moodily.

"Well then, I'll stay if you can get no one else. Go at once, and mind you're quick about it."

The man put on his fur cap, pulled it nearly over his eyes, and somewhat reluctantly and without a word of thanks to Forester prepared to go.

But before he left the room he went to a cupboard in the corner, took out a bottle of whisky, poured some into a glass, and drank it almost raw.

"Have any, governor?" he asked.

"No," said Forester, "I never touch stuff like that, and it would be better for you if you never took any."

Then the man went to the bed, bent over his old father, and whispered something in his ear. Forester thought he caught the words, "Don't blab about what don't concern you," but the whisper was so low that he could not be certain that this was what was said.

The next minute Daniel went out into the darkness, and closed the door behind him.

#  Chapter Nine

### A Strange Night

WHEN Norman Forester was left alone, he set himself first of all to do what he could for the old man's comfort. He shook up the dirty cushion and pillows with which he was propped up, and with his careful hands moved him gently into an easier position and straightened the ragged blanket which was his only covering. He found a kettle on the hearth, black with the soot of ages, and seeing a can of water standing near he poured some in and boiled it on the fire.

He sponged the sick man's face and hands, which were covered with the grime of weeks of neglect, using his own pocket handkerchief as a sponge, and drying them on a cloth hanging on a nail in the door. Then he washed out one of the dirty cups, dried it by the fire, and seeing some milk in a jug he warmed it in a small saucepan, which he also had to clean before using, and gave it gently and slowly, a spoonful at a time, to the old man.

The warm milk revived him, and when he had finished it he spoke to Forester for the first time. "Say a prayer," he said.

Forester recoiled. He had never prayed with anyone in his life. He did not answer for a moment, and again the old man addressed him. "Do say a prayer," he pleaded.

Once more Forester devoutly wished that he were Jack. Jack would have known exactly what to say, and how to comfort the dying man in his time of need. But he -- what could he do? Then a prayer that his mother had taught him years ago as a child flashed into his mind, and bending over the old man he repeated slowly, "God be merciful to me a sinner."

"To me a sinner," said the sick man. "To me a sinner."

Soon after this the man seemed to breathe more quietly. Forester glanced at him and saw that he was fast asleep. Then he sat down to rest, tired with his long tramp in the wind and the rain. The air of the room was close and stifling, but he dare not open the window, for the cottage faced the sea, and the wind had become a fearful hurricane. It seemed sometimes as if the window would be blown in, and the howling in the chimney was frightful.

Forester went quietly into a small outhouse, found a little coal and threw it on the fire which was fast dying out. Then he tried to think of all manner of things to make the time pass quickly. It seemed like a horrible dream, to be sitting in this strange and dirty place in the middle of the night. And the wildness of the weather added to the weirdness of the situation. He could hear, whenever the wind lulled for a moment, great waves beating on the rocks close by. He wondered if they ever came as far as the cottage. It seemed to him sometimes as if he were on board ship, at the mercy of wind and tide.

What a long night it was. Would it never be morning? The old man still slept. As Forester bent over him from time to time, he wondered if he would awake feeling better and easier. He thought of the whisper he had overheard, which seemed to imply the existence of some secret which was not to be told.

What could it be that the son was so anxious that the father should not tell? Probably they were poachers or smugglers, and were afraid of their doings being brought to light. The woods were enclosed with wire and there seemed to be a good staff of gamekeepers, and surely, with a coastguard station close by, smuggling would not be easy.

Just then the fire, which had begun to revive, shot up a bright flame, and by its light Forester saw something sparkle underneath the old sofa. A pair of scissors perhaps. The flame died down and he could see nothing, but he felt about with his hand on the ground underneath the couch and came upon a hard object lying against one of the legs. He picked it up and brought it to the fire to examine it.

To his astonishment he found it was a small golden crucifix -- at least it looked like gold, though he argued with himself that possibly it was only gilded. Yet it was a strange thing to find there. Could the old man and his son be Catholics, he wondered? And supposing they were, why did they not take more care of their crucifix? He laid it on the table, but picked it up several times after that and examined it in the firelight.

The longer he looked at it, the more convinced he felt that it was made of solid gold. He also noticed that the figure of Christ on the cross was beautifully carved and bore evidence of skilful workmanship. He marvelled more and more that such a costly thing should have found its way into that forlorn cottage by the sea.

A short time after this the doctor was startled by hearing a whistle outside. Was it the wind in the chimney? No, he was sure it was a human whistle, and it was repeated several times. The old man was still sleeping, and he was unwilling to disturb him by moving across the room. But when the whistle was followed by a knock at the door, he decided to go to it and see who was outside.

Opening the door only a little way because of the violence of the wind, Forester peered out into the darkness. At first could see no one. But when his eyes were more accustomed to the dim light he could just distinguish the figure of a man standing by the gate. He seemed to be wearing a long coat which came down to his boots. The collar was turned up, and a cap was drawn tightly down over his eyes. Forester could not see his face. It was too dark for that.

"Let me in, Daniel, quick!" the man said.

"Daniel has gone to fetch the doctor for his father," said Forester. "The old man is very ill. What do you want?"

"Oh, nothing of consequence," said the man curtly. "Goodnight." And in another moment he was gone.

Forester went back to his place by the fire considerably puzzled. Where had he heard that voice before? He tried to remember, but he tried in vain. Perhaps it reminded him of someone with whom he had travelled. Or was it like the voice of some patient of his in London? Voices were often somewhat similar, so there was really nothing remarkable about that. But it did strike him as strange that a visitor would come to that cottage on the shore on a matter of no consequence in the middle of the night, especially on such a wild night as this.

At length the weary hours passed by and it began to get light. Now he could look out of the window and see a little of his surroundings. Far in front of him stretched the sea, covered with white horses rearing their heads in the wind. The tide was going out, and the rocky shore was strewn with masses of seaweed which had been brought up by the storm.

Presently the old man awoke and began to groan again. Forester raked together the fire, heated some milk, and gave it to him as before. Then he felt the man's pulse, and found it more rapid and feeble than the night before.

The rain had stopped and the sun was shining brightly when he heard the welcome sound of footsteps. Daniel was returning at last. He came in alone with the same surly expression he had worn the night before.

"Well, what about the doctor?" Forester asked.

"Oh, the doctor. He's going to ride over after breakfast, he says. He doesn't hurry his self, doesn't doctor."

"Then I'll go back now," said Forester. "I've just given your father some milk. Give him some more in about an hour if he's awake. By the bye, I picked this up under your sofa last night. I saw it shine in the firelight. You should take more care of your valuables, and not leave them lying on the floor."

The man looked at him with his rat-like eyes, as if he would read his thoughts, and then said carelessly, as he took up the gold crucifix: "Oh, that old thing. It must have tumbled down. It belonged to my mother. She brought it from old Ireland with her. She was an Irish Catholic, was my mother."

Forester was thankful to get out of the stifling atmosphere of the dirty cottage and return to his tent. He had some difficulty in finding his way. He discovered, however, that he was in the quiet little cove of which old Mr. Norris had told him, and after making his way to the top of the rugged path which led down to it he found himself on the road to Hildick. It was nearly seven o'clock when he reached his tent, and decided it was too late to go to bed again. They would be expecting him on the shore to bathe, and would be interested to hear of his night's adventure.

So he got his towel and ran down the hill to wash off the dirty, smoky atmosphere of the cottage which, in his fancy, still clung to him. There was no swimming to be done out in the bay that morning, for the sea was far too rough, and the bathe close to the shore was soon over. Forester went to the Bank for breakfast with the Mainwarings as usual, and on the way there told Jack and Don of the strange night he had spent.

"I think I had better go and see that old man," said Jack.

"Yes, do. He wanted me to pray with him in the night, but that's more in your line than mine."

"We'll walk over together after dinner, if you like."

Forester agreed, and that afternoon the two friends crossed the headland, and managed to find the short way across the fields by which the doctor's surly guide had taken him the night before. When they reached the cottage they found the door a little way open and walked in.

Daniel was lying asleep on the old couch with his empty pipe in his mouth. The fire had burned low, and the place looked even more desolate than the night before. The old man was watching as they went in, and seemed pleased to see Forester.

"Well, did the doctor come?"

"Yes, he came, and he gave me some'at to ease the pain like."

"What did he say?"

"Said as he couldn't do naught much for me. Said I was too far through." His breathing was bad, and the words came with difficulty.

"I've brought my friend here to see you," said Forester.

"Who be you?" asked the old man.

"I'm looking after the parish here for your vicar," said Jack." I thought perhaps you would like me to come and see you."

"Parson, be you?"

"Yes."

The old man pointed at the couch. "Hush, don't wake him. Daniel can't abide parsons. But I'm glad you've come. I want..."

A fit of coughing stopped him speaking, and this brought on the pain so badly that for some moments nothing more could be said. But Forester's gentle hands applied the liniment which the local doctor had brought with him to the place where the pain was most acute. After a time the old man was easier.

"Have you come to pray with me?" the old man asked. "He did in the night," pointing to Forester. "I haven't forgot your prayer, master. 'God be merciful to me a sinner.'"

Jack turned to Forester. Forester glanced shyly at him, and then walked to the window and stood with his back to the bed, looking out at the sea.

"That's a beautiful prayer," said Jack to the man on the couch. "Have you said it for yourself?"

"Ay, many a time last night. 'God be merciful to me a sinner.' Yes, and I am a sinner. I know that, a great sinner."

"But, thank God, there is a great Savoir for you," said Jack in his cheery voice. "You say you are a great sinner. Well, God must punish sin. Do you know that? God can't just forgive you and let bygones be bygones, and take no further notice of your sins. That wouldn't be just. But God loved you so much that He let His dear Son be punished instead of you."

"Ay, He died on the cross, didn't He?"

"Yes, for you."

"Was it for me?" The old man's voice faltered. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely sure."

"Then what have I got to do?"

"Thank Him," said Jack.

"Thank Him?"

"Yes, tell Him you are a great sinner, and thank Him for dying instead of you, and ask Him to be your own Savoir."

"Will you ask Him?"

"Yes, I'll ask Him. But that isn't enough. You must ask Him yourself. Would you like to ask Him now?"

Very simple was the short prayer that followed, asking the Lord Jesus Christ to forgive him and be his Savoir. Jack knelt by the bed. Forester stayed looking out of the window as the old man in a feeble voice repeated sentence by sentence the words of the prayer.

They were just leaving the cottage when Daniel woke and glared at them both. "Oh, it's Doctor Forester," he said. "Well, you needn't come anymore now. We've got the doctor from over yonder in attendance, and it'll be all right about the inkwitch."

"Do you know what you're saying?" said Forester sharply. "Don't let your poor old father hear you talk like that!"

"I like to see 'em, Daniel," said the old man.

"Well, maybe you do," Daniel said, "but all the same, there's nothing more to be done now. So you young gents may as well go and enjoy yourselves on the shore. Good afternoon to you both."

"A surly chap, that," said Jack, "and a villain too, I would imagine. I wonder who they are."

They went into the castle to see old Mr. Norris on their way back, and told him where they had been, and asked him if he knew anything of the two men in the cottage by the shore. He said that he had seen them once or twice when they had passed by the gate, but they had not been long in the neighbourhood. They came, he understood, from somewhere up north, and they had come to the bay for crab-fishing. Old Maxie had been involved in many a tussle with them over it, for Maxie looked on all the crabs in the sea as his private property. They had made no friends in Hildick, and the village people looked on them with suspicion and distrust. More than that he could not tell them -- and he did not think that anyone in the place knew anything more about them.

* * *

That night, as Jack Mainwaring knelt to pray, his thoughts went to the old man whom he had visited that afternoon, and who was dying in that lonely cottage by the sea. He prayed that his few feeble words could be used by the Spirit of God to bring him out of darkness into light, and that he could see how willing God was to save him.

So Jack prayed, but he never thought that those few simple words spoken in the cottage had done more than that. He never thought that the message of salvation, so briefly spoken, had been received, and gladly received, by another heart.

Norman Forester, instead of going to bed that night when he returned to his tent, walked in the starlight to the end of the headland and down onto the shore. In that quiet place, where no sound was to be heard but the lapping of the waves on the shore, he felt himself indeed alone with God. As he sat on the rocks he seemed to hear again the conversation to which he had listened in the cottage. First came his friend Jack's voice: "God loved you so much that He let His dear Son be punished instead of you."

And then the answer in the feeble whisper of the dying man: "Ay, He died on the cross, didn't He?"

"Yes, for you."

"Was it for me? Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely sure."

"Then what have I got to do?"

"Thank Him," said Jack.

"Thank Him?"

"Yes, tell Him you are a great sinner, and thank Him for dying instead of you, and ask Him to be your own Savoir."

"And I've never done it," said Forester aloud. "I've never thanked Him. I've lived all my life without doing it. I've pleased myself as far as I could, and I've tried to make the best of life; but I've never thanked Him."

"Was it for me? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely sure."

The words came back to Forester again and again. He got up, climbed back up the hill and paced about on the headland. He saw himself, as he had never seen himself before, a sinner in need of a Savoir. And that night he realized how ungrateful he had been. A Savoir provided for him, and at such a cost, and he had never even said, "Thank you." But he said it that night.

From that night Norman Forester's life was a consecrated life, dedicated to the service of his Lord. The same plain, unvarnished gospel message which had guided an old man, led a young doctor into light and joy and peace.

* * *

The next day, Jack Mainwaring and Norman Forester again crossed the hill to visit the old man. But when they arrived at the cottage they found the door locked, and no sign of anyone about the place. Forester went to the window and looked in.

"Dead," he said shortly. "I thought he wouldn't be long, poor old chap."

The funeral in the old churchyard was Jack's first and only funeral while taking the duty at Hildick. The son stood by the grave, the only mourner. He had put on a black tie, but that was the only difference in his attire, and he was barely sober as he walked with unsteady footsteps after the coffin.

Forester stood at a little distance, hidden by a high tombstone, and listened while Jack committed the poor old body to the dust, "In sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life, through Jesus Christ our Lord." He felt that he would meet the old man again, and he wondered what he would be like in that other life.

The first to notice the change in Norman Forester was Doris Somerville. Perhaps it was because she watched him most. It was not because he was suddenly merry and full of jokes, for he had always been that; but in his quieter moments when they were sitting on the shore and the cheerful talk had ceased for a time, she noticed a look of rest and peace and contentment on his face which had not been there before. It was later that the doctor shared the news with his friend Jack Mainwaring.

In the afternoon, when he and Doris Somerville were walking alone on the sand, he repeated the two lines of the hymn to her, "But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay."

He then explained that those last two lines were now as true for him as they were for Jack; that he had One to guide his way Who could alone give true heart content.

#  Chapter Ten

### White Heather

DORIS Somerville was not only musical, but she delighted in painting. She told Forester that she had received good lessons at school, and had since attended a School of Art. She was anxious to carry away with her from Hildick some picture which would always remind her of the most pleasant holiday she had ever spent.

She set out alone one morning to choose the spot from which to make her sketch, and after wandering about for some time she fixed her eyes on the rocks almost underneath the farthest part of the headland. From her present viewpoint she would be able to get the trees above, the masses of rock in all shades of yellow, orange and red beneath, and then, as a foreground, the sea, with a fringe of white foam on the pebbly shore. This view charmed her immensely. If only she could reproduce it, however feebly and imperfectly, it would be a joy to her for ever.

She sat down with her sketch book, and was soon working away at her picture, far removed from the energetic party on the shore, and yet so interested in her work that she did not miss them.

The others were by their favourite rocks just underneath the old church. Joyce was throwing sticks into the water and coaxing her dogs to jump in and bring them back. Don Mainwaring and the Sinclair boys, Val, Dick and Billy, had set up an old tin and were pegging stones at it. Forester lay lying on the sand, the picture of idleness.

"Come along," cried Don presently, "we're going to play hockey on the sand. We've brought the sticks down."

Mab and Dolly Mainwaring jumped up at once to join the game.

"Come along, you lazy fellows," Dolly called to her brother Jack, and to Forester.

"Where's Doris Somerville?" asked Forester. "Why don't you get her to play?"

"Doris? She's off along the shore to paint. Up near the end of the headland. Come on, you two!"

Jack jumped up and followed them, but Norman Forester declared he was far too tired for hockey, and they were all soon out of sight. He jumped up the moment they had disappeared round the corner, and immediately began to walk swiftly along the shore in the opposite direction.

He found Doris seated on a rock, intent on her picture.

"Miss Somerville!" he said when he came up to her, as though she was the last person that he expected to see.

Of course, having come on her in this unexpected manner, it would not have been polite to pass swiftly on without looking at her picture and making a few approving remarks. The feeling of weariness apparently returned, and he found it necessary to sit down on the rock and watch her as she painted.

Whether he helped or hindered the picture it would be hard to say, but he certainly made the time pass so pleasantly that Doris would hardly believe him when he took out his watch and told her that it was nearly one o'clock. They had talked about almost every subject under the sun, and had learned more about each other in those two hours than many people did in as many years.

It was after this pleasant morning on the rocks that the doctor made a curious discovery. He found that the shortest way from his tent to the rocks by the church was to go to the end of the headland, climb down the steep cliffs, and then work backwards along the rocky shore.

Val, Dick and Billy Sinclair strongly contested this discovery, and maintained that the road which led past the castle would take him to the shore in less than half the time. They told him that if he came the old way he would also have the pleasure of their delightful company all the way down the hill. But Norman Forester stuck most obstinately to his own opinion, although the new way he had found sometimes took him so long that he did not arrive at the general rendezvous until it was almost time to return home for dinner, and then he appeared in company with Doris, carrying her camp stool and sketchbook.

Many were the mocking remarks from the Sinclair boys when he arrived, watches were brought out, and an exact calculation made of the precise length of time that this short cut had taken him. He was also asked to explain how it was that, at 7 a.m. when he went to bathe, he always found the road by the castle the shorter one, while later in the morning he carefully avoided taking it because of its length.

The doctor bore their teasing good-humouredly, for the pleasant mornings on the shore with Doris Somerville well repaid him for it all. They had that quiet part of the beach almost to themselves. Sometimes Maxie appeared on his way to his lobster pots, and greeted Forester with a broad grin of pleasure and a friendly nod, but they seldom saw anyone else.

One day, however, they spied a man coming round the point, and picking his way over the seaweed-covered rocks.

"I do believe it's that antiquarian Clegg," said Doris. "I'm so glad you're here. I can't bear that man."

It was Clegg, and the next moment he caught sight of them and came up to them. "Good morning, doctor," he said. "I haven't seen you for a long time -- not since we had that pleasant meal together in old Norris's kitchen."

But as soon as the man spoke, Forester knew that he lied. That was not the last time they had met. He had spoken to this man at the door of Daniel's cottage by the sea. His was the voice he had heard when in the middle of the night he had opened the door and looked out into the darkness. He had distrusted the man before, and now he felt convinced that his unfavourable opinion of him was absolutely correct.

What the antiquarian wanted at that cottage, for what purpose he took that midnight walk on such a night of storm, Forester had no idea. Did Clegg suspect that he had recognized him, or did he hope that he had been able to throw him off the scent? Forester could not tell.

Whatever his feelings were, the man had the impudence to endeavour to continue the conversation, and even to lean over Doris while he passed remarks on her picture.

"Pretty view that, miss. And very well done too. I'm a bit of an artist myself, so I know a good picture when I see one."

Doris made no reply, but hastily began to put away her drawing materials. Forester looked at his watch, and taking no notice of the unpleasant intruder, said, "Miss Somerville, we ought to be going now." Then without even wishing Clegg good morning, they walked on together in the direction of the church.

The next event of importance was another birthday -- that of little Joyce Sinclair.

"I'm going to be eight tomorrow," she announced to Forester, "and we're going to have a picnic, and everybody is coming to it, and you're coming too."

The invitation, given in this curious fashion, was gladly accepted by the doctor, and he looked forward to it with pleasant anticipation.

The place chosen was a small bay lying about four miles nearer to Llantrug, and close to which was a castle even more in ruins than that of Hildick. It formed a picturesque object on the hillside, standing as it did in the midst of a grassy valley running down to the sea.

They decided to go early in the morning while the tide was low, so that they could walk across the firm sand. By skirting Hildick Bay and passing the point beyond, they would reach the sheltered cove which was to be found at the entrance to the green valley in which the castle stood. Maxie's donkey and cart were requisitioned to carry their provisions, and it was settled that the large party should start not later than nine o'clock.

Long before that hour, however, the doctor was up and walking across the headland, away from the castle and the place of rendezvous. Why was he so anxious to add to his walk by taking exercise so early in the morning? And why did he stoop from time to time to look under the furze bushes? What did he expect to find? Whatever it may have been, he seemed to have discovered it after a time, for he returned to his tent, found his kettle boiling, and after a hasty breakfast hurried down to the castle.

Joyce Sinclair ran to meet him, full of excitement, her two dogs bounding after her.

"Come and look at my presents," she said, as she dragged him into the castle. "I never had such lovely ones before."

The presents were all set out on a small table in the window, and he duly admired them one by one.

"Now," Forester said, "you haven't got my present. Can you guess what it is?"

"Yes, I know," said Joyce. "It's that sweet little bit of white heather in your button-hole!"

"No, it isn't that. Feel in my coat pockets and see if you can find anything."

She found a large box of chocolates which Forester had sent for by the coach the day before, and she ran off to exhibit it to her mother.

The day was one of those rarely fine days on which no one dreamed of taking waterproofs or umbrellas, even as a precautionary measure.

Everyone was in high spirits, and a merrier party probably never crossed the sands of Hildick Bay. The only one who seemed a little less lively than usual was Jack. As Forester watched him, he appeared at times to be lost in thought. It was not that he was depressed or unhappy, but he seemed to be far away, and sometimes he did not appear even to hear the lively conversation going on around him.

About halfway to the bay near the castle a stream came running down towards the sea, and they had to take off their shoes and stockings to wade across. On the other side the party became somewhat broken up. Joyce had ridden across the stream in the donkey cart, and continued to drive on the other side as the walk was rather a long one for her. She resented old Maxie walking by the donkey's head.

"He thinks I can't drive," she whispered to Forester.

He walked beside her for a little way, and then looked round to see what had become of Doris. She and Jack had lingered behind, and he noticed that Jack had slipped his arm through hers, and they were in earnest conversation. Not liking to interrupt their talk, Forester ran on ahead and soon caught up with the rest of the party.

They had chosen a sheltered place for dinner, laid the cloth, unpacked the baskets, gathered sticks for a fire, and had in various ways taken possession of the shore for the day -- before Jack and Doris appeared. Everyone was hungry after the walk, and did full justice to the farmhouse fare which Mrs. Norris had packed up for them.

Forester sat on a rock between Mab and Dolly Mainwaring, and they laughed so much all the time that Joyce told them that if they were not quiet she would turn them out of her birthday party!

When dinner was over, everyone helped to pack up and clear away. Old Maxie, who had been eating sandwiches by the dozen behind a rock close by, undertook to light the fire and have the kettle boiling in time for tea. The girls had found a brook on the hillside where they were washing the cups and mugs which had been used for lemonade, so they would be ready for the next meal.

Forester followed them there, and turning to Doris said, "Miss Somerville, shall we go and see the old castle? It's only a mile away."

"Thank you," said Doris, blushing, "but Jack has asked me to go with him."

She did not even say, "Will you come too?"

So Forester could only answer, "Oh, all right!" and hurried away to help old Maxie to make up the fire.

Then the older members of the party brought out books and newspapers and prepared for a quiet afternoon, while the younger ones hurried up the valley to explore the castle.

As they were walking there, Norman Forester asked Dick Sinclair how the ghost was going on, and he told him that he had not heard it for several nights. He thought it was getting tired of going up and down stairs.

"However," said he, "I'll catch it yet. Just you see if I don't!"

"And find it to be the old mare kicking her heels in the stable," teased his brother Val.

"A regular mare's nest, that," added Don Mainwaring.

"Wait a bit," answered Dick. "Don't you fellows laugh until I've given you something to laugh about. I'm on the scent, I tell you."

"Tell us what the scent is," said Forester.

But Dick only laughed, and told them he was not going to let them into all his secrets.

"My idea is that Clegg and his friend are up to something at the castle," said Forester. "Why else are they always prowling about there? Antiquarian or no antiquarian, one comes to the end of exploring any old ruin after a time."

But Dick would not reveal what his suspicions were, and kept repeating that they would see presently.

By this time they had reached the castle, which they found far less interesting than the one at Hildick. They raced all over it, looked into every cranny and corner of the ruins, but nowhere could they see Jack and Doris. They had noticed them in front of them walking up in the direction of the castle, but no one had seen them since, and now they seemed to have utterly disappeared from sight.

"What are those two after?" asked Val Sinclair. "They seem ever so keen on each other's company today!"

"I think they always are," said Don. "My brother Jack and Doris have been chums ever since they were small. We have a photo of them at home. You should see it -- two little babies sitting side by side in a pram with their arms round each other, and looking at each other with the most sentimental grin."

"Who took it?" asked Val.

"Doris's father. He used to photograph every holiday. He hasn't taken a single one this year. Getting too old, he says. I do wish we had that photo of Jack and Doris here. There they are, those two, smirking at each other like two little lovebirds! We call it 'The Young Lovers.'"

"Is that why they're together this afternoon?" asked Val.

"I shouldn't wonder. I don't mind if it is," said Don. "She's a jolly girl is Doris Somerville -- always the same, you know, and she's just the one for Jack. He tells her about his work and that sort of thing, and she knows how to look after old women and sick people, and all the rest of it."

"I think Jack's just splendid," added Billy.

Don laughed. "So he is, though I says it as shouldn't, as Jack's old landlady would say. He's a regular brick in the pulpit and out of it. But he's not a bit too good for Doris, I'll say that."

"She seems pretty fond of him," said Val.

"I should just think she is," replied Don. "If you want Jack's praises sung, go to Doris. She'll let you have them right enough. I run him down sometimes, just to tease her, and don't I catch it!"

Forester never spoke a word, but he was listening most attentively to the whole of this conversation. Not a single word was lost on him. How blind he must have been not to have noticed this before. Everyone else had seen it, and of course they were right in the conclusions they had drawn. Jack and Doris were exactly suited to each other in every way. How foolish he had been!

He had imagined that Doris liked to be with him, and that she had enjoyed those quiet mornings on the shore as much as he had done. But now he felt that all the time she must have thought him a terrible nuisance, and must have been longing for Jack to come and take his place. Forester recognized that if there was one thing that he held in abhorrence more than another, it was going anywhere where he was not wanted.

Jack and Doris did not appear until teatime, and then gave a lame account of their proceedings. Oh yes, they went to the castle, but there was not much to see there after all. So they went on the hill beyond, and lost their way in the wood.

Val winked at Jack's brother Don. "What a pity you found it again," he said. "We could have had no end of fun looking for you, and might have found you wandering like the babes in the wood."

Doris laughed, such a light-hearted laugh, Forester thought, as she told them that she and Jack had enjoyed a pleasant afternoon in spite of being lost.

Tea was a welcome meal, and everyone did full justice to it, including the large birthday cake covered with icing and sugar-plums, with a broad inner layer of almond paste. The cake bore the lettering in pink sugar on the top of it -- Many Happy Returns of the Day.

Then came the walk home along the shore, during which no one appeared to be in better spirits than Norman Forester. He never flagged the whole way, and there seemed to be no end to his jokes, his amusing stories, and his power of repartee.

It was not until he had said goodnight to them all, and had pinned his bit of white heather onto Joyce Sinclair's dress as he gave her a kiss and told her to be sure to ask him to her birthday party next year, for it was the nicest he had ever been to in his life; it was not until he had left the castle behind and found himself out on the lonely headland, with only the quiet stars shining above him; it was not until then that he dared to pause and look into his own heart.

During the last few weeks he had enjoyed himself, from day to day, in a way in which he had never done before. He had delighted in Doris's company; he had interested himself in finding out her thoughts and ideas on various subjects; he had contrasted her with someone else whom he had known, and marvelled at the difference. He had gone on from day to day in a kind of happy dream, never asking himself where all this was leading him, never stopping to call his feelings by the right name, never looking into the future at all; but just enjoying to the full the happy present in which he was living.

But since he had left his tent that morning his eyes had been opened. As he threw himself down on the heather that warm night he had no difficulty in reading his own heart. He loved her. Oh, how he loved her. He had thought once that he knew what love was, but now he discovered that he had never really loved anyone before.

Certainly he had always felt a certain amount of affection, admiration for a pretty face and charming manner, and a longing to escape from the solitude of bachelor life and settle down to the quiet home life. He'd had all this, and thought that the kind of love in story books was not a reality. He had imagined that his ideal did not exist, that she was not to be found in this faulty world, and that therefore he must be content with the nearest approach to that ideal that he could discover.

But he had never known what real love was. He knew tonight. Yes, he had found his ideal. Doris Somerville was everything of which he'd ever dreamed; she was more than he had ever pictured to himself. Yes, he had found her, but she was not for him. She was Jack's ideal too. Jack loved her, and had probably loved her long, long before he came on the scene. Dear old Jack, so thoroughly worthy of her -- such a contrast to himself. Jack, who was always the same, utterly free from the moods to which he knew that he himself was liable -- Jack, so good, so strong, so true.

Surely he could never stand in Jack's way after everything Jack had done for him, even if it had been possible for him to do so. Jack deserved her, and he was the one to make Doris happy. Who was he that he should complain? He would wish them God-speed in the bright future which lay before them. He would rejoice in their joy, even though it meant his own loss.

But not tonight, no. Just for tonight he must think of himself, and of the sorrow that had come upon him. He had not cried since he was a boy, he had not shed a single tear on that day, not long ago, when he discovered how he'd been deceived. He'd been angry then -- disappointed, annoyed, depressed; but he had never cried. Yet now the hot, scalding tears came, in spite of all his efforts to keep them back.

There was no sleep that night. He was a man of strong feelings, and his whole nature was stirred. He did not even attempt to go to bed. He paced about the headland. He even climbed down to the rocks and sat for the last time on the spot where he and Doris had sat so often together while she painted.

Jack would be the one to see that picture finished. He must now return to London. When he was busy with his patients, or going round the wards in the hospital and doing what he could to lessen pain, to cure disease, and bring comfort and help to others, he would feel stronger and better.

Yes, he would get back at once. He would write to Mrs. Timmis tomorrow. His old housekeeper was having a holiday in the country, but he would ask her to return at once and have all in readiness for him. This was Thursday -- at least, yesterday was.

It was early morning now. He would write today, Friday. Mrs. Timmis would get the letter on Saturday, but not in time to get back that day, for she was in an out-of-the-world place. She would not be able to get off until Monday morning, but he could catch the night train and be back in his rooms early on Tuesday. That would give him time to get his tent down and pack it up.

He settled it all in his mind, to the smallest detail, even to the wording of his letter to Mrs. Timmis -- anything to occupy his thoughts sufficiently to get through the next three days.

But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay.

What made those words flash into his mind just as he returned to his tent? They seemed to bring a strange untold comfort with them. He was going away on Monday, but he would not go alone. Jesus his Guide would go before him, and go with him. And in his busy life, in his weary, constant fight with disease and death, in the quiet hours of his solitary life, he would never again be alone. The Son of God had loved him and died for him, and He would be there with him, even unto the end.

#  Chapter Eleven

### A Meeting Disturbed

WHEN seven o'clock came, and he felt that the long night of conflict was over, Norman Forester wearily took up his towel and set off to the shore to bathe as usual. When he made up his mind to any course of action, nothing on earth would move him from it. He had resolved the night before that no one should ever have any idea of what had been in his mind, or of the struggle he had gone through to obliterate his own wishes and only think of the happiness of his friends. He knew that he was now facing three days of great difficulty, and he could not help wishing that they were over.

The Sinclair brothers were not up. He threw pebbles at Val's window at the castle, and shouted underneath it, but got no answer. He guessed that no noise would have waked Val that morning, for the long day in the open air had almost certainly made him sleep soundly.

Forester went on alone. He was sorry that the Sinclairs were not coming to bathe, for he rather dreaded being alone with Jack and Don Mainwaring. He thought Don might have something to tell him that morning about Jack and Doris, and he did not feel quite sure of himself yet. He was afraid that his congratulations would not sound as warm and hearty as he would like them to do.

However, to his relief, not a word was said on the subject which he had supposed was uppermost in their minds by either of the Mainwaring boys. The sea was calm, and the long swim was refreshing after his sleepless night. Forester, refusing a pressing invitation to breakfast with the Mainwarings at the Bank, climbed the hill again, feeling far better able to face the day -- a day which could not fail to be a trying one.

Later that morning he avoided his usual short cut to the shore. He pictured Doris Somerville on the rock busy with her picture. She must not know, she must never know, what his thoughts had been as he sat there in the darkness only a few hours before. How thankful he was that he had never in any way led her to suspect his feelings. If he had done so, she would have been troubled and sorry for him. Her eyes would have been full of sympathy for him, and it would have brought a shadow over her happiness. He was glad, very glad, that she would never know.

On the way down the hill he met Don's sister Dolly. She looked bright and pretty in her pale blue motor cap and linen dress -- like a harebell, he thought. She told him that she and her sister Mab were going with her brother Don and the Sinclair boys for a long walk in the woods at the other side of the bay, and she asked if he could come with them.

"Is Jack going?" he asked.

"No, he is going to prepare his sermon."

"Going to read it to Doris Somerville, perhaps," he thought, but aloud he said, "I'd be delighted."

During the walk everyone was in such good spirits that he found it infectious, and soon joined in all the merriment. The views from the hill were lovely, for they looked through long vistas of trees to the blue bay beyond, and saw the woods on the other side, with Hildick Castle and the old church standing exactly where an artist would have placed them in a beautiful picture woven out of his own imagination.

"Next week," said Don, "we'll have another picnic. I vote we have heaps more before we go home. Mother says she thinks Monday would be a good day. So don't forget, any of you, and fix up anything else."

"I'm afraid I won't not be with you," said Forester. "I'm off home on Monday."

"Nonsense," said Don. "Surely you told me you were going to stay longer than that."

"Yes, but I find now I have to get back to work, and when duty calls ... you know."

"Bother duty calling," said Don. "Don't go yet, there's a good fellow. We're such a jolly party here, and it will spoil it all if we begin to break up."

"Sorry," said Forester. "It has been a wonderful time, but I'm obliged to go on Monday, so it's no good your tempting me with picnics and other delights."

They came back by the shore, and found Jack and Doris sitting together on the shingle.

"How's the picture getting on?" asked Forester, as they all sat down behind them.

"Oh, I've done very little today," she said. "Really nothing. Jack--"

At this moment Don interrupted her by saying: "Whatever do you think this wretched man has been telling me? He says he's going away on Monday, and can't come to our picnic."

"You mustn't," said Jack.

"I must get home," Norman Forester explained. "Tuesday is my day at the hospital, and I want to be in time for that."

Doris made no remark, but all the others stoutly protested that they would not allow him to go, and that it would be an awful shame if he did.

Then Jack looked at his watch and said it was time to go home for dinner. They all jumped up, and were walking along the road when Doris suddenly remembered that she had left her camp stool on the shingle. Forester ran back to get it, telling them to go on, and he would follow. When he returned, and had passed the turn on the road, he found Doris standing just where he had left her, waiting for him to come up.

"Thank you," she said. "It was good of you to go back all that way."

Forester did not speak for a minute or two. It was an ordeal to be left alone with her.

"Must you really go on Monday?" she said at last.

"Yes, I must," he said firmly. "It is quite impossible for me to stay. It has been a lovely time, so different from what I thought it would be when I came here. But it's over now, and I must get back to work."

She turned to him for a moment, and seemed about to say something, but checked herself.

"What were you going to say?" he asked.

"Oh, nothing. I was only thinking what a pity it is that nice things are over so quickly."

Forester guessed that Doris was feeling that because the end of the holiday was coming into sight, Jack would soon be back in the slums of Manchester and it would be many months before they all met again.

They walked on in silence. At length they reached the house where Doris and her father were staying, and he gave her the camp stool and for the first time ventured to look at her. There was a look of sadness on her face which he had never seen on it before. The brightness seemed to have gone for a moment.

"Thank you," she said, as she took the stool from him. "I must get in." And without another word she left him.

As he climbed the hill, Clegg and De Jersey passed him. They took no notice of him or he of them, and they hurried on in front. He wondered, as he watched them, where they were going, and why they were in such haste. The mystery at the castle, if mystery there was, had never been explained, and Forester was sorry that he was leaving Hildick before any discovery had been made there. Dick had again and again assured him that he was on the scent, but apparently had never been able to catch his ghost after all.

As he passed the castle gate he saw the two men talking to Rupert Norris. Forester passed swiftly on with merely a friendly nod to Rupert. But Rupert would not be passed in that way, and called after him to stop.

"You must come in, doctor," he said. "Mary has been making your favourite rabbit stew, and she begged me to look out for you and bring you in. I came out on purpose, and then these gentlemen came up. Now, do come, sir. You must be sick of tinned meat by this time!"

Forester could not refuse so kind an invitation, so he followed Rupert across the castle courtyard, and the two men came behind. Were they also invited to dinner? But he soon discovered to his relief that the invitation had not been extended to them.

"We have come up to the castle to say goodbye," explained Clegg. "We're off in the morning, and we have a great deal to do today."

They followed the doctor into the ancient kitchen. A clean, white cloth was on the table. The young twins, May and Hawthorn, were sitting on high chairs at the table with bibs tied under their chins. Their mother Mary was stirring a pot on the fire, from whence a savoury smell was filling the room. The Norris's son Leonard was sitting on the tall wooden settle beside his grandfather, patting one of the collies. All were evidently waiting for Forester's arrival, so that the meal could begin.

"That's right," said the old man, as he came in, "we haven't set eyes on you for a long time, sir. We thought you had forgotten all about us, and were so taken up with all the young folks down below that you would never give us a bit of your company again."

Forester laughed as he told him that he was delighted to come, and that there was no place like that comfortable chimney-corner. He said he would never forget how comfortable it was.

Then the old man caught sight of the two men behind Forester, and his expression changed in a moment. "Hello," he said, "I didn't see you. What have you come after?"

"Only to say goodbye, Mr. Norris," said Clegg, "and to thank you for all your kindness to us. We've had a most agreeable visit, most delightful in every way. As you know, I'm an antiquarian."

"Yes," interrupted the old man, "you need not tell me. I've heard that before. Well, you're going are you? When?"

"Tomorrow, by the early bus."

"And Mr. Artist? I can't remember his name."

"Going too," said Clegg, "so he has come with me to say goodbye. We have to be home this weekend, both of us. I wish we could have stopped longer."

He made a great show of shaking hands with them all, and so did his friend. He kissed the little girls, and May began to cry, for she did not like him. Clegg invited Rupert to come to see him in Birmingham, and he promised to send them all cards at Christmas. At last he and his silent friend the artist, who had not uttered a single word, took their departure.

As soon as the door closed behind them, the old man exclaimed in a pleased voice, "Good riddance to bad rubbish. I hope that's the last I shall ever see of you!"

"Have you ever seen any of his pictures?" asked the doctor.

"What, that artist chap? No, I don't believe he has any. Rupert does; I don't. Rupert is going to see them in the Royal Academy," added the old man, with a chuckle. "He asked you, didn't he, Rupert?"

"Well, he did say he hoped I should see them there some day."

"And you believed him," laughed the old man. "You believed him, Rupert. You can't deny it!"

Mary now announced that dinner was ready, and they took their seats at the table. Then Forester told them that he was leaving on Monday and going back to his work. They all seemed sorry that he was going, and hoped that he had enjoyed his holiday. He told them it had been the happiest time of his life, and he would never forget the castle nor their kindness to him while he was at Hildick.

After dinner was over, Forester had sat in his favourite place on the settle with Jemmy the pet lamb lying at his feet. When he had discussed the affairs of the nation with the old man and had given him an account of his visit to Palestine, he walked to the harvest field to watch Rupert and his men carrying the corn.

Joyce Sinclair was there, and of course the collies were with her. Not a laden wagon left the field without her riding on it, and to her great joy she was allowed to drive the empty wagons back to the field. She seemed as much interested in the harvest as Rupert Norris himself, and she made Forester pull off his coat and help throw the sheaves into the cart.

He stayed there for a time, sometimes watching, sometimes helping; but a restless fit was on him that afternoon, and the old craving for a hermit life was returning. He wanted to get away from people, at least from people that he knew. He would be better away from here.

With this feeling on him he avoided the shore, at least that part of it which skirted Hildick Bay. They would all be there, he knew. Would they miss him? Jack and Doris would have each other. The others made one happy party, and it was hard to keep pace with their liveliness today.

So it was better for him to have this afternoon by himself, for that look on Doris's face had haunted him. He was afraid she had guessed his secret, and so was sorry for him. It certainly was a look of sadness. Why should this be? He had been determined not to bring the tiniest cloud across her bright horizon. He had been so careful to keep from her the least sign of what he had gone through the night before, that he wondered how she could have divined his thoughts.

"It must be because I am suddenly going away," he said to himself. "She must have guessed why I cannot bear to stay here."

He wandered on aimlessly over the headland. He passed a clump of white heather, but it had no attraction for him now. And then he found himself at the stile which he had crossed, for the first time, on that stormy night when he had been woken up to visit the old man in the cottage by the sea.

He decided to make his way to the lonely cove on the far side of the headland. None of his new friends ever went there, and he would be able to get a little rest from the strain of appearing in good spirits when he felt as if his heart was breaking.

It was a lovely afternoon. As he wandered down the narrow path through the valley, the beauty of the whole scene; the lovely color of the heathery hills; the golden gorse which in some places was still in full flower; the fields on the lower slopes of the hill where the grass was green and the sheep were peacefully feeding; the bold rocks below stretching out into a sea which reflected the blue of the sky above it, and on the horizon the fishing boats with their white sails shining in the light -- the loveliness and perfect beauty of it all soothed him and comforted him, though he hardly knew why or how. It seemed, as he sat on the heather watching it all, as if a loving hand was being laid on him.

He recalled a night long ago when he was lying, a tiny child in his bed, sobbing as if his heart would break because he had damaged a favourite toy. His mother came quietly into the room. He did not hear her come in, but he felt her hand resting lovingly on his head, and he was sure that she was sorry for him. And he knew now that this world belonged to God his Father, and in every bit of its loveliness he saw his Father's hand, and it rested like a gentle touch on his troubled spirit.

He got up after a time and made his way to the rocks below. He passed the forlorn cottage, the door of which was closed, and which looked, he thought, more gloomy and forsaken than ever. Was Daniel still living in it? He climbed round a high rock on the shore, to sit where he could get a view of the bay, and somewhat to his disgust he came on Daniel sitting where he had meant to sit, and smoking the same dirty clay pipe which he had in his mouth when he came to call him in the night. As it was impossible to pretend that he had not seen him, Forester greeted him pleasantly,

"Good afternoon," he said. "What a lovely day."

Daniel grunted without removing his pipe, and looked anything but pleased. Forester was passing on to another place where he saw a comfortable place to sit, formed by a slightly shelving rock, when the man called after him.

"You, doctor!"

"Well, what do you want?" said Forester, looking back.

"What are you after down here?" the man demanded.

"What am I after down here?" replied Forester in annoyance. "What business is that of yours, I would like to know? What are you after down here?"

"I'm after my proper business," shouted the man. "Perhaps you're not aware, doctor, that this 'ere bay belongs to me, and the sooner other folks takes their selves off from it the better for them."

"What on earth are you talking about?" retorted Forester. "This bay is no more yours than mine."

Forester took no further notice of him, but established himself on the rock for which he was making, and sat quietly watching the bay. The old cottage was well in sight. He could see the closed door, a thin curl of blue smoke coming from the chimney, and two old lobster pots standing in the neglected garden.

"Now, why did that old rogue want me away?" he said to himself. "He must have some reason. I wonder what it is."

He determined to sit where he was and await events. Presently he saw Daniel get up, with a scowling glance cast in his direction. Then he began to climb the path which led up the valley.

"Now, I wonder what you are up to," said Forester to himself. "I think I will follow you and find out."

Acting on this determination, he got up and began climbing the steep path which Daniel had taken, keeping him well in view, yet keeping the distance between them as great as possible.

"He has not seen me yet," said Forester quietly. "He thinks I am still on the shore."

Presently, as Forester watched, he saw two men coming down the hillside, along the path by which he had come to the cove. He recognized them at once as Clegg and De Jersey. Daniel saw them too, for he hurried to the foot of the hill and then went through a most extraordinary performance. He took a red pocket handkerchief from his pocket and tied it round his neck, then held his right arm above his head as if to attract attention.

The two men on the heights above caught sight of him, and immediately went back and disappeared over the brow of the hill. Then the doctor, having seen all that he wanted to see, turned round swiftly and hid himself behind a thick hedge, so that Daniel would not know that he had been watched.

It was all clear to him now. A meeting between the three men had been arranged to take place either on the shore or in the old cottage. Daniel was on the lookout for the other two. He had resented Forester's presence because he did not want him to witness the meeting, or know that there was any connection between them. But seeing that the doctor had taken up his position on the rock which commanded a full view of the cottage, and that in spite of his insolent words he seemed likely to stay there, Daniel had walked up the hill to give a previously arranged danger signal to warn his two friends to come no nearer.

Forester crouched under the hedge and waited until the heavy slouching footsteps of the man went by. He looked more of a villain than ever, and the doctor felt glad that he had not to take another midnight walk with him. He did not feel inclined to return to the cove, or he would find himself in such evil company again. So, as soon as Daniel was out of sight he hurried up the hill and went back to his tent.

There was hockey on the shore that evening, and Forester, who was always keen on the game, played it with his usual energy and spirit. Everyone played, and played well, and the exercise did him good, and helped him to sleep soundly when he returned to his quiet tent.

#  Chapter Twelve

### Who Chose the Hymn?

"ONE DAY OVER," said Forester to himself, with a sigh of relief when he woke the following morning. "Only Saturday and Sunday now."

The weather appeared to be ready to help him out of his difficulty, for when he jumped out of bed he found that it was a pouring wet day. There would be no sitting on the rocks or walking on the shore. He would not even have the pain of imagining Doris at work on her picture, with the seat on the rock beside her -- his seat -- either filled by Jack or left empty. He looked out, but beyond a driving mist he could see nothing. It reminded him of his first day of camp life here on the headland, and his feelings seemed to be in harmony with the climate.

He was boiling his kettle inside the tent when he heard footsteps coming up the lane. He looked out and saw Val Sinclair in a long mackintosh coming towards him.

"Hello!" he called out to him, "what are you after, taking your walks out here in the rain like a duck?"

"I've come for you," said Val. "Put out that horrible stove, put your coat on and come at once. Breakfast is almost ready, and mother wants you to spend the day at the castle."

Forester as usual made many excuses, but Val would hear none of them and carried him off with him. Young Joyce was feeding the collies at the door when they arrived in the courtyard, and called to them that breakfast was on the table. This was certainly a pleasant exchange for the doctor from the damp, dismal tent. It was a chilly morning, and a fire had been lit in the broad fireplace of the parlour, looking cheery and bright.

Mrs. Norris was bringing in a dish of fried ham and eggs, and greeted Norman Forester with a pleasant smile. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair welcomed him most kindly, and their three boys Val, Dick and Billy were delighted to have a visitor to help them pass what promised to be a somewhat monotonous day. During breakfast Dick boasted that he had been up before any of them.

"I heard you go past my door," said Mrs. Sinclair. "Why did you get up so soon, on such an awfully wet morning? Surely you did not go down to the beach to bathe!"

"Not I," said Dick, "but I made up my mind last night that I would see whether old Sly-boots and the long-haired one really did go away on the coach. I had my suspicions when they told us they were going that it was only a blind. I had an idea that they wanted us to think they were gone, so that we would be off our guard, but they would still be sneaking around all the time."

Forester remembered what he had seen the day before, when he went to the cottage by the shore, and listened with great interest.

"Well," he said, "go on. What did you find out?"

"I got up at six," said Dick, "for I didn't know exactly what time that lumbering old bus would start. Rupert Norris was only just going out, and I expect he wondered what I was after. I ran down the hill for fear I'd be late, but when I got to the village I saw a man pulling out the coach and harnessing the horses. I knew then that I was too soon, so I had a walk up the village, but saw nothing of those two fellows. However, after I got back to the bus, and had watched all sorts of old dames getting in with their baskets, I suddenly caught sight of them coming down the hill. Sly-boots soon spied me, and had the impudence to cross the road and shake hands with me as if I was a dear friend of his."

"Did they go in the bus?" asked Forester.

"Oh yes, they went right enough, and called out goodbye to everybody they saw, and waved their hats and pocket-handkerchiefs until they were out of sight."

"Was that fellow Daniel anywhere about?" asked Forester.

"Not that I know of," said Dick. "I never caught sight of him."

"I'm awfully glad they've gone," said Val.

"I'm awfully sorry," said Dick.

His brother looked surprised. "Why sorry?"

"Oh, because I wanted to find out what they were after at the castle, and I thought I was on the scent, and now I've lost it again."

The heavy rain lasted all day, and it seemed useless to think of going out. Forester and the Sinclair boys took a brisk walk over the hill in the afternoon, but beyond that there was nothing to be done outside. In the comfortable castle parlour, however, they had all manner of games, and the day passed more quickly than any of them would have thought possible.

Jack Mainwaring came up the hill to fetch Forester to the Bank, but the doctor was glad under the circumstances that he had this previous invitation, so he was able to decline. He had won his way successfully through two days, and now there was only Sunday to be lived through. Then he would be able to relax the constraint which he had put upon himself. Monday was no day, he told himself, for he would be too busy taking down the tent and packing up his belongings to have time for thought of any kind. Surely no one would expect him to come onto the shore on such a busy morning.

* * *

Sunday came at last. "A clear shining after rain." Where had he heard those words? Somewhere in the book of Samuel? They seemed exactly to describe what he saw when he opened his tent door on that Sunday morning. Everything looked refreshed and invigorated by the rain of the day before, and the bright sunshine was making the drops still clinging to the hedges and long grass sparkle like so many diamonds.

This, then, was his last full day at Hildick. He could not help feeling sorry when he remembered this, in spite of his great anxiety to get back to his busy life in London.

How would he pass the morning? The Sunday before, he had walked with Jack to the distant church; but today surely Doris would be going with Jack -- and if he went they would wish him at Jericho, or a little farther. So he sat alone at the end of the headland and watched the waves, and drank in the pure sea air, and thought how long it would be before he saw so lovely a place again.

In the afternoon he sat with old Mr. Norris on the seat in the castle courtyard, and had tea afterwards in the farmhouse kitchen. Then he went back to his tent to get ready for the evening church service. He went into the castle on his way down the hill, but found no one there but the old man. All the rest had gone down the hill to be in time to get seats in the tiny church.

The doctor followed them quickly, but found when he got near that the bell had just stopped. He saw that the place was full, even the porch was packed with people who were afraid of the heat inside and preferred a cooler seat. Forester looked inside and saw only one vacant chair. He made his way to it, and just as he was sitting down he noticed that Doris Somerville was next him.

"Jack won't mind," he thought, "for he can't sit here himself."

He would never have chosen to sit there, but as he had no possibility of changing his place he could not keep back a feeling of pleasure at being near Doris just once more. "It is the last night, the very last night," he said to himself.

The service was hearty. Everyone joined in the responses; everyone listened attentively as Jack read the lessons. And then came the first hymn. Norman Forester had no hymn book, for there were very few in the church. Doris had one, however. When they stood up to sing she held it for him to look over with her. He could hear her voice clearly as she sang the compelling words:

I heard the voice of Jesus say,

"Come unto me and rest."

Forester tried to sing too, but the words seemed to choke him. Was his hand trembling as he held his side of the book? Or was it hers? It surely could not have been hers. He was glad when the hymn was over and they knelt down again.

The next hymn was easier, and he joined in. No one could help singing in that church. And then came Jack's sermon, the last Forester knew he would hear at Hildick. He wondered when he would hear Jack preach again, and where.

He blamed himself afterwards that he could remember so little of Jack's sermon. He heard it as if he was in a dream. He listened to it, and it comforted him at the time, yet when he tried to recall it afterwards he could only remember a few sentences. But he never forgot the text from Psalm 73.

"Thou shalt guide me with Thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory."

That text would be his sheet anchor, he decided, in the new life of work which he was to enter that week. The Guide would be his here, and the glory would be his in the Eternity beyond.

Then came the last hymn, and Forester looked up quickly as Jack gave it out, "O Thou by long experience tried, Near whom no grief can long abide,"

The opening words for familiar. Surely this was the hymn which he had mentioned earlier to Doris. He looked at the end, and there, as he felt sure he would find it, was the well-known verse:

While place we seek or place we shun,

The soul finds happiness in none;

But with my God to guide my way

'Tis equal joy to go or stay."

Doris began to sing the verse, but she suddenly stopped. He felt sure now that her hand was trembling as well as his. He did not dare look at her, but kept his eyes fixed on the hymnbook. It was over at last, and they knelt down, and Jack's confident voice gave the blessing.

Forester let the others go on and waited for Jack who was some time in coming, as he was talking to the old clerk. Forester had promised to go to the Mainwarings at the Bank for supper, and he could not get out of it that last evening. He wondered whether Doris had told Jack what he had said about that verse. Certainly Jack had quoted it in an earlier sermon, but why sing it now? He thought Doris must have mentioned his conversation with her, and it rather surprised him.

He had said to her what he would never have dreamed of saying to anyone else, and she should have respected his confidence. But after all, he thought, what could be more natural than for her to tell Jack? Was he not Jack's friend? And of course, now she would tell Jack everything. Yet although he argued with himself in this way, still, at the bottom of his heart, it rather hurt him that Doris must have repeated words which after all were only meant for her ear.

Yet perhaps even in this thought he wronged her. Perhaps it was only a remarkable coincidence that the hymn should have been chosen. Stranger things than that had happened, and indeed were constantly happening.

Jack was ready at last, and the two friends walked up the village together.

"Jack," said Forester, "who chooses the hymns?

"I do. I choose them every Saturday, and let the organist have them so she can play them over."

Then she had told him. There could be no doubt about it now.

"I liked those we had tonight very much," said Forester.

"So did I. Oh, by the bye, I had forgotten. I was busy yesterday evening, and Doris said she would decide on the hymns for me. So you have to thank her for choosing those you liked."

Norman Forester gave a sigh of relief. She had not betrayed his confidence after all. She must have chosen that hymn because she knew it was his last Sunday, and because she felt sure that he was fond of it. It is just like Doris, he said to himself. Even in her joy she could think of others and try to give them pleasure.

Doris Somerville and her father came to the Bank for supper. She looked pale and quiet. Forester thought perhaps she was not feeling well. He devoted himself to Mab and Dolly Mainwaring, but could not help glancing at her from time to time, and he rather wondered that Jack did not talk to her more. He seemed to take so little notice of her, but doubtless he was feeling tired after his Sunday's work.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Forester rose and said goodnight to them all.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Mrs. Sinclair said. "Come to breakfast. It's your last morning, so you can't refuse."

He thanked her, but said he was afraid he would not be able to come down the hill because Maxie was to arrive at nine o'clock to help him to take down his tent. Hearing this, Mrs. Sinclair promised to have breakfast half an hour earlier, and he was obliged to tell her that he would come.

Doris was in the hall getting her coat as he came out. He put it on for her, and whispered as he said goodnight, "It was good of you to choose my hymn, Miss Somerville."

Jack followed him out.

"You're not coming with me, Jack. No, I can't allow it. You're tired out, and it's a pull to the top at any time."

"Of course I'm coming," said Jack. "Why, it's your last night, more's the pity. And who knows when you and I will get a chat together again."

Yet, although Jack said this, he did not seem much inclined to talk when they first set out. Forester was thinking of Doris, and wondering why she seemed so much out of spirits that evening. The two friends walked on almost in silence for some time. It was Jack who spoke first.

"Forester -- Norman."

"Yes, Jack."

"I want to tell you something."

The doctor felt like a soldier buckling on his armour as he pulled himself together, and answered in as cheerful a voice as he could manage, "Well, Jack, what is it?"

"It's a secret at present, but I must tell you. I know I can trust you. We've been friends such a long time, haven't we?"

"Shall I guess what it is? Something exciting, isn't it? You are going to tell me you are engaged, Jack."

"However in the world did you know?" said Jack. "Oh, I see, my brother Don must have told you. Don never can keep a secret. He never could when we were at school, and he's no better now. It's as good as telling the town crier to tell Don anything!"

"Well, he didn't exactly tell me," said Forester.

"Oh, I understand. He threw out hints, and left you to guess the rest," said Jack, laughing. "Well, it's true, and I don't mind you knowing. In fact, I want you to know. That's why I came up the hill with you tonight. I want to tell you how happy I am."

Forester slipped his arm in Jack's as he said, "You know, don't you, how glad, how glad I am for you, Jack? You could not have done better!"

"I see that Don has evidently told you the whole story. Yes, I am indeed a happy man. We've known each other so long, and Doris is such a splendid girl. Oh, you don't know what she is, or how she has helped me. I could never tell you all, even if I was to try. But I hadn't much hope that I would ever get her. You see, her father has rather put difficulties in the way, and all the time I've been here I've been trying to persuade him to let us be engaged. We've loved each other a long time now, and he knows we have, but he said he would never let us be engaged until I had an appointment as a vicar with an income. He does not believe in long engagements."

"Do you not have an appointment now?"

"No, not yet, but I have hopes of one soon. Still, it is not certain, and it seemed so long to wait. And all this time he would not let me write to her, and I scarcely ever saw her. But just this last week he has come round so far as to say we may be privately engaged. That is to say, the family may know, her family and mine, and we may correspond, and I may go there sometimes. So altogether things will be on a much more comfortable footing. And then, of course, if I get a church of my own, everyone can know, and he will consent to our being married at once. I feel years younger already, and Doris says she does. I felt I couldn't let you go away without telling you."

Forester pressed his friend's hand as he said goodnight to him at the top of the hill. "I do congratulate you, Jack, with all my heart I do. God bless you both."

Then the doctor went on in the darkness alone. What had been a fear before was a certainty now. Once or twice during the last two or three days he had asked himself whether he had rather jumped to conclusions, or at any rate somewhat anticipated events.

But now he knew. Jack had told him all, and he found that he had made no mistake. Well, he was thankful that he was going tomorrow. In thirty-six hours he would be in London.

#  Chapter Thirteen

### Where Can He Be?

THE NEXT morning Norman Forester was up early, to get a last bathe before breakfast. It was a beautiful day, and this made it all the harder for him to leave Garroch. Everything, he thought, looked its brightest and its best. Val Sinclair put his head out of his bedroom window as he passed the castle.

"Wait down there a moment," Val called, "I'm coming with you."

Mary Norris was sitting on a three-legged stool milking just outside the gate, and he went up to her to tell her he intended to drop in later to say goodbye. He was still talking to her when Val and his brother Billy joined him.

"Where's Dick?" Forester asked, as they went down the hill together.

"He must have gone on in front," said Val. "When did he start, Billy?"

"I don't know," said Billy. "I was asleep when he got up. He's got a mania for early rising just now. Yesterday he turned out at six in the morning on a pouring wet day to see old Sly-boots off!"

Jack and Don Mainwaring joined them at the corner of the road leading from the village, and they all went on together to the shore. They expected to find Dick there, but he never appeared.

"I wonder what he's gone," said Billy. "Bathing off the rocks somewhere, I expect. He's got a great craze for diving this last week."

They all enjoyed their bathe, and Jack and Don Mainwaring took Norman Forester back with them to the Bank, while Val and Billy returned to the castle. Everyone seemed rather out of spirits at breakfast. They were all fond of the doctor, all sorry that he was going.

"It won't seem a bit right without you," said Don. "Why can't that stupid old hospital take care of itself?"

They were just preparing to go out when Val Sinclair appeared. "Is my brother here?" he asked.

"Dick? No, hasn't he turned up here?"

"Well, we've been expecting him up at the castle all the time, and mother thought he might be down here with you. It doesn't matter, he's bound to turn up soon. That brother of mine never has any idea of time. Can I help you to pack up your tent, Forester?"

"Thanks, Val. Maxie is coming, but I won't refuse a good offer. An extra hand in packing will be a great help."

"I'll come too," said Don. "We'll soon get it done between us. Let's hurry up and finish."

They climbed the hill together, and as they passed the castle they saw little Joyce looking out of the gate.

"Is Dick back?" shouted Val.

"Not yet," she replied.

"It strikes me he'll want his breakfast when he does come," said Don. "It's hungry work prowling about before breakfast."

They found Maxie, with his donkey and cart, waiting for them close to the tent.

"Be this belonging to any of you young gentlemen?" Maxie said, as he fumbled in his pocket and brought out a soft gray cap.

"Let me see," said Val. "Why, it's just like Dick's cap!"

It was Dick's cap, they all knew it well. They had seen him wearing it many a time.

"Wherever in the world did you find this, Maxie?" Val asked.

Maxie pointed vaguely in the direction of the sea. "Over there," he said.

"Where?" asked Forester. "Tell us exactly."

But this was more than Maxie was able to do. His brain was somewhat bewildered at all times, and when he was questioned about anything he was unable to express what he meant to say, or give a direct answer to any question that was put to him.

They asked Maxie one thing after another, but were unable to get any information out of him, beyond the mere fact that he had found the cap "over there."

"Look here," said Forester to the others, "not a word of this to Mrs. Sinclair. It will only alarm her, and she will think something has happened to Dick. In all probability we'll find the explanation is as simple as daylight. Possibly Dick is at back at the castle now, and ready to start off again to look for his cap. The best thing you can do, Val, is to go back and tell your brother when he comes that his cap is safe in my tent. In fact, you'd better stay near the castle and look out for him. We can manage the tent all right. I've no doubt Dick has been on the rocks, and his cap has blown off and he's lost it."

Val Sinclair went back somewhat reluctantly, and as soon as he was out of hearing Forester whispered to Don Mainwaring, "I don't like this at all."

"And I don't like it either," said Don. "Something's up."

"Will I begin to pull him down, master?" asked Maxie, with his hand on one of the tent pegs.

"No, Maxie, leave it alone for now. Take your donkey and cart to the castle. Leave them there with one of the farm lads and come back to me."

"All right, master, all right."

"And not a word about that cap. That's not your business, Maxie, remember."

"Not a word, not a word, master," repeated Maxie, as he led his donkey away down the road.

"Now, Don," said Forester, "perhaps we're making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps Dick is already back at the castle, but at the same time, accidents do happen. I must say it appears to me a strange thing that Dick's cap should be picked up. He would hardly go on without it, would he?"

"Hardly," said Don. "Well, what do you mean to do?"

"Make Maxie collect his wits and take us to the place where he found it. It seems he can't tell us, but he may be able to show us, and then we can come to our own conclusions."

The doctor and Don sat down on the heather to await Maxie's return. At last they saw him coming back alone, and his pace was that of his old donkey. They were such constant companions that the old man had fallen into the habit of walking at exactly the same rate as that of his leisurely four-footed friend.

"Come on, Maxie," cried Forester. "Hurry up!"

The old man came on at an ambling pace. "Shall we pull him down now, master?"

"No, Maxie, we'll leave the tent now. I want you to do something else first."

"Yes, master."

"Look at me, Maxie. I want you to think, and try to remember where you found that cap, and then I want you to show me. Can you do it?"

"Do what, master?"

"Can you take me now to the place where you picked up that cap?"

The old man at last grasped what was wanted of him, and he turned round and began to walk along the headland. Forester and Don followed him, and he led them by a number of short cuts unknown to them towards the trees.

After a time Maxie climbed over a fence, and they followed him. He led the way to a small path, not much wider than a sheep track, which took them through the thickest part of the wood. This path was lined with ferns and moss, and the trees overhead were hung with ivy, their trunks covered with lichen.

Every now and then they had to climb over the trunk of a fallen tree, or push their way through a tangled mass of brambles. The path led steeply downhill, and soon they could catch a glimpse of the sea lying down below.

Still Maxie went on in front, looking back from time to time to make sure they were following. At last, when they were nearly at the bottom of the wood, they saw him stop under the shadow of a large spreading oak tree. He waited for them to come up. Pointing to the ground close to the gnarled trunk, he said, "The cap was there, master."

There was a fallen tree close by, covered with moss and fern.

"Now, Maxie," said Forester, "sit down by us here and tell us all about it. When did you find it? And what made you come here?"

"I was going to my pots, master, to look for crabs. Plenty of them down below here. Sometimes they come in and get caught. Sometimes I never catch one."

"Well, you were coming down to look at your pots this morning. What time, Maxie?"

But Maxie was not at all clear on this point. Five o'clock, six o'clock. He did not know which. He never took much notice of time.

"Anyone about, Maxie, when you came?"

"Nobody."

"Anyone on the shore when you got down there?"

"No, I saw nobody and nothing. Nothing but the cap. Says I, 'That'll belong to one of them young gents staying at the castle. So I picks it up, and puts it in my pocket, and goes away to my pots."

This seemed to be all the information to be got out of Maxie, so they told him he could go.

"Shall we pull the tent down now, master?"

Forester considered for a moment. "Go to the castle, Maxie, and get your donkey," he said at length. "When you get there ask if Master Dick is at home. If he is, go to the tent and wait there for me. If he is not, go home until I send for you."

After the doctor had repeated this several times, Maxie appeared to grasp what was said to him and he began to climb the hill.

"Now, Don, let's examine the ground under this tree."

They stooped down and looked attentively at every part of the ground covered by the branches, and in doing so they noted two things. First, that in one place the ferns and moss were crushed and flattened as if something heavy had been laid on them. Secondly, not far from this particular spot the green moss was discoloured by a few drops of blood.

Norman Forester frowned. "What do you make of that, Don?"

"His nose was bleeding, perhaps, and he rested here for a time until it stopped."

"Well," said Forester "it may have been so. Let's hope in that case that he is home by this time. It's useless to alarm ourselves without cause. The first thing to be done is to go up to the castle and inquire."

So they went quickly up the hill and arrived at the castle gate almost as soon as Maxie. Mrs. Sinclair was looking out of it as they came up.

"Well, Mrs. Sinclair," said Forester cheerily, "has your wandering boy come back?"

"No," she said, "and I do begin to feel rather anxious. My husband says it's foolish of me to worry, for what could happen to Dick here? And of course it is a perfectly safe place. Still, it's not like Dick to stay away so long. He's such a thoughtful boy, and he knows I get anxious."

"Does anyone know what time he went out this morning?"

"No, neither Rupert nor his wife saw him at all, nor did any of the farmhands, and they were here at six o'clock. Mary Norris says she was down early this morning, for it's churning day, and she was working at the churn out here in the courtyard. She's quite sure he never came out after she was up. Oh, I think he can't be long now. I've asked them to keep the kettle hot for his breakfast. What time is it?"

It was ten o'clock. She ran in to give further directions about Dick's breakfast, and Forester took hold of Don's arm and hurried him away before she returned.

"Come along," he said. "We must lose no time. Let's find Jack and get him to help us."

"What to do?"

"Why, to search the shore and the wood thoroughly. Dick may have hurt himself in some way, sprained his ankle, or even broken his leg, and may be in need of immediate help."

They were soon down the hill and into the village. They met the girls on the way, coming towards the castle with grave and anxious faces.

"Has he turned up?" Doris asked.

"Not yet," said Forester. "I hope he will soon."

Then they hurried on, feeling that every moment could be of importance, and the girls followed more slowly behind. Forester ran into the post office and sent off two telegrams. One was to his old housekeeper. "Not returning today will wire time tomorrow." The other was to a cab proprietor in Llantrug, to countermand his previous order for a cab to take him to the station that evening.

Then they went onto the shore, and here they found Mr. Sinclair with Val and Billy, and Jack Mainwaring. They had been hunting among the sand dunes, thinking that Dick might have gone there after bathing and sprained his ankle stepping into one of the many rabbit holes. They hoped that they would hear of Dick's return to the castle from Norman Forester and Don, but discovered to their disappointment that they had no good news for them, and they became much more anxious than they had so far been.

They all sat down on the shingle to make their plans. Mr. Sinclair's idea was that Dick might have gone by the early coach to Llantrug.

"He was doing amateur detective work on those two men who were always hanging about the castle," said Mr. Sinclair, "and he seemed vexed that he found nothing out before they left. Now, is it not possible that he may have gone to Llantrug to try to follow them, or at any rate to find out what their movements were after they left Hildick on Saturday?"

Don and Forester exchanged glances.

"You don't think so," said Mr. Sinclair.

"No," said Forester, "I don't. And I think I ought to tell you what we have discovered."

He then told them about Maxie finding the cap, and of the strange out-of-the-way place in which he had come across it. But neither Forester nor Don liked to tell Dick's father of the red drops that they had seen on the moss under the oak tree.

They formed themselves into a search party, under the leadership of Forester. They felt he had great presence of mind, and seemed to know exactly the right way to go to work. They all leaned on him, and were glad to do what he told them, feeling sure that it was the best thing that could be done. They agreed that it was most important that Mrs. Sinclair would not be unduly alarmed, and Doris undertook to go to the castle and do all she could to cheer her. Mab and Dolly Sinclair were also to remain near home, so that if their brother returned they could bring the good news to the searchers on the shore below.

"Now," said Forester, "there are six of us. If we are unsuccessful we can get help later from the village. But if Dick has simply sprained his ankle, or something of that kind has happened, he will not care for an awful fuss to be made. So, for the present I suggest that first of all we thoroughly search the wood, looking into every nook and cranny of it, and behind every bit of brushwood and rock. Dick may be feeling faint and unable to call to us. He may even be unconscious. Then, we'll meet on the open ground on the other side of the wood, and confer again."

They started at once, Forester and Don Mainwaring taking the lower part of the wood, so that Mr. Sinclair would not come across what had so much alarmed them under the oak tree.

After about an hour's diligent search they all met on the headland beyond, but no one had anything to report, except that in certain places there were signs of footsteps having recently passed over the undergrowth of the wood. Of course, these could have been Maxie's footsteps when he went down to his lobster pots that morning.

"Now," said Forester, "we will search the shore. Don and I will cross over the top of the headland, go down on the other side, and begin at the cove beyond. The rest of you had better go down to the rocks there, and work on round the shore until you meet us."

Everyone was ready to do just what he was told, and soon Forester and Don were crossing the fields leading down into the valley where Daniel's cottage stood.

"I do hope he'll turn up all right," said Don, when they were alone.

Forester did not answer.

"What are you afraid of, Norman?"

"Well, I hardly know, but I can't help wondering, Don, whether there has been foul play."

"Foul play?

"You know how he has been spying on those two rogues, Clegg and De Jersey. Depend on it, they must have noticed it, and my opinion of those two is that they would stick at nothing."

"But they're gone. They went on Saturday. Don't you remember Dick saw them off?"

"I know, but their fellow-conspirator hasn't gone. Whatever they are after, Daniel knows about it, and Daniel is helping them, you may be sure of that."

And when Don heard all that Forester had to tell him on the subject, he fully agreed with him.

"Now," said Forester, "you can see why I wanted to begin at this part of the shore. I'm going to find Daniel and hear what he has to say about it."

They hurried on down the valley and made their way to the cottage. As they drew near they caught sight of Daniel, in his shirt-sleeves, with his arms on the garden gate leaning over it and smoking. He took no notice of the doctor when he came near, and when he wished him good morning only answered by a grunt.

"We have come for the young gentleman," said Forester.

"You've come for the young gent? What do you mean by that? I've got no young gents here, no, nor don't want no young gents here, neither. And as you be young gents yourselves, you can take yourselves off!"

"Keep a civil tongue in your head, man, and answer a civil question," said Forester. "Have you seen the young gentleman anywhere on the shore here?"

"What young gentleman?"

"The one from the castle. There's a party searching for him along the shore, and we want to know whether you've seen him. You had better tell the truth," added Forester.

Daniel did not deign to take the slightest notice of what was said, further than to pour out such a torrent of oaths that the doctor said to Don,

"Come on. We've given him his chance. He will have to tell some day in a way he won't like."

As they walked away, Forester said to Don, "I'd give anything to go inside that cottage. We might find some clue to the mystery there, but we couldn't enter without a warrant. It wouldn't be a safe game for either of us to play on our own. If nothing turns up soon we must get the police from Llantrug."

They walked quickly around the headland and down to the shore, and soon met the rest of the search party. Mr. Sinclair was evidently growing anxious as he felt that time was passing on, and no trace of Dick's movements had been found. It was then nearly two o'clock. No one had thought of dinner, but Forester could see that they were all tired and disheartened, and he proposed that they should go home, rest for an hour, get some food, and then start afresh in another direction.

Mr. Sinclair seemed at first loath to give up the search for his son even for a time, but on Forester's suggestion that it was possible that Dick might have already returned, he consented to go back to the castle. On the way he seemed so upset and exhausted that Forester was doubly glad that he had insisted upon a pause in their search.

He walked with Mr. Sinclair some way behind the others, and impressed on him the necessity of keeping his strength, as much might be required later on. He also begged him, if possible, not to let Mrs. Sinclair see his anxiety more than was actually necessary. The poor father took hold of Forester's arm. He seemed to lean on the doctor for support, both physical and mental.

Joyce ran to meet them when they drew near the castle. They could see by her face that she had no good news to tell them. Dick had evidently not returned.

"You'll come and dine with us, of course," said Mr. Sinclair.

"Yes, if you would like me to do so. But perhaps..."

"Oh, you must come. You will help me so much to comfort my wife, and after dinner we must plan what is to be done next."

Rupert Norris and his old father were standing in the courtyard as they entered it. Mr. Sinclair passed into the house, but the doctor stopped to have a word with them before entering.

"This is a bad job," said Rupert.

"Oh, he's all right," said the old man. "I can't imagine what all this fuss is about. Why, he has only been gone half a day, and here has everyone jumped to the conclusion that he has killed himself, or something of that sort! When I was a boy, I often went off for a day along the shore. Lads will be up to mischief of one kind or another, and you can't stop them. And there's his poor mother crying her eyes out!"

"Did you hear what Maxie found in the wood?" asked Forester.

No, they had not heard. Maxie had obeyed orders, and not said a single word about the cap. Forester told them where it was found, and what he had seen under the tree; but he charged them not to say anything to Mrs. Sinclair about what he had told them.

Old Mr. Norris thought a moment, and then said, "Now, that throws a fresh light on the subject. It seems to me that it works out this way. Young Master Sinclair wakes early, before our folks are up or the men at work in the farm. He comes downstairs, slips out, and runs down the hill to bathe. It was high tide about five o'clock. He thinks he will go down through the wood to the rocks. Climbing down through the brambles, and not keeping to the path, maybe he hurts himself in some way, cuts his hand, or stumbles on some glass and cuts his foot. He only has those tennis shoes on, and they're no manner of good here. Nothing but strong soles are any good at Hildick. He has holes in his shoes, to my certain knowledge. Well, we'll say he cuts himself, and we'll say it was his toe. Most likely going to bathe he didn't even put his socks on. Well, he stops under the tree and he ties his foot up, but not before some drops of blood have fallen on the moss. He isn't going to lose his bathe however, so on he goes, gets down there and dives from the rocks."

The old man stopped.

"Go on," said Forester.

"I don't like to go on, sir."

"But I want you to go on. If that is the case, where is he now?"

"Where is he now?" said the old man sorrowfully. "Ah, that's what it is -- where is he now? Wait until the tide comes in at six o'clock this evening, and perhaps we shall see."

"You surely don't think he's drowned!"

"Maybe, sir, maybe not. We'll have to wait for the incoming tide."

#  Chapter Fourteen

### Watching the Tide

THE DOCTOR saw that there was much to be said for the pessimistic view old Mr. Norris had taken of Dick's disappearance, and he went into the castle feeling it a difficult task to try to be cheerful and hopeful. No one them was sorry when dinner was over. They all tried to avoid the subject uppermost in their thoughts, and the meal was taken almost in silence.

"What a nice girl Doris Somerville is," said Mrs. Sinclair, after there had been a long pause in the conversation. "She has been with me all the morning, and I really don't know what I would have done without her. We've known her such a short time really, and yet I feel that I can lean on her with confidence. You don't often come across a girl like that, do you?"

"No," said Forester quietly, "not often."

In his innermost heart he gave another answer: "Never, no, never will you find one like her."

When dinner was over, Forester sat with Mr. Sinclair for a little time on the seat in the castle courtyard, and they consulted together about their next movements. Forester had made up his mind that if Dick did not appear before the afternoon he would tell Mr. Sinclair about the blood they had seen under the oak tree, and would also hint at his suspicions with regard to Daniel and the two men who had left on Saturday. But Mr. Norris's suggestion had concerned him. He began to see that a more simple, though no less tragic, solution of the mystery was possible. If that was the case, he did not think that the time had arrived to put the police on the scent or call in detectives from Scotland Yard. He, like old Mr. Norris, would wait for the incoming tide.

If nothing was revealed then, or when the tide returned again the following morning, he would once more consider the advisability of communicating his suspicions to Dick's father. He therefore now merely suggested that the coastguards should be questioned as to whether they had seen anything of Dick while on their morning beat. Then the search party must call at every cottage in the village to find out whether any of the Hildick people had been on the shore early. They would also ask for their assistance in the search, and thus get together a large band of helpers.

Mr. Sinclair seemed relieved to be at work again, so they hurried down the hill. On meeting with the others, they divided the village between them, each of them taking a certain number of houses in which to make inquiries, after which, and in about an hour's time, they arranged to meet on the shingle to share with each other any information they had obtained.

At four o'clock, the appointed time, they all went to the place where they had agreed to meet. Doris Somerville and Mab and Dolly Mainwaring were already there when they arrived, all anxious to hear the result of their inquiries.

Forester was the first to speak. He reported that the coastguards could give him no information whatever. They had patrolled along the shore in both directions during the night in their normal routine. One had skirted Hildick Bay, the other had gone round the headland, but neither of them had come across anything extraordinary. They had met no one, and had heard no sound but the waves beating on the rocks. However, Forester found when he questioned them that they had returned to the station about three o'clock, long before daylight. He had found them helpful, and they promised to let him know if anything came under their observation which might throw light on the mystery.

He told how he went next to the house of the old sailor who owned the only boat in Hildick Bay. His was the boat that Forester was watching that first morning, when he sat beside Mr. Somerville on the shore and shared his newspaper.

Old Treverton's sea-going days were over. He sometimes did a little fishing when the herrings came into the bay. When the visitors were in Hildick, provided that the day was fine and the sea perfectly calm, he would row them about slowly and carefully in the quiet water. But his working days were almost done, for he was more than eighty years of age.

Old Treverton was always glad of a chat with anyone whom he could persuade to stop to talk to him, and was ready to spin as long a yarn as the time of the passerby would allow. He was therefore highly gratified by a call from Forester, and invited him into his little parlour.

"Well, could he tell you anything?" asked Mr. Sinclair.

"No, he knew nothing about Dick. He hasn't seen him since yesterday morning. The old man has a good memory, and seems to know us all by name."

"Then that was a failure too," said Mr. Sinclair in a disappointed voice, for he had hoped from the doctor's manner that he had something to tell them.

"I went on," Forester continued, "to question him as to whether he had seen anything unusual on the shore, and then he told me rather an odd thing. You know where he keeps his boat, on the rocks, well out of the reach of the tide? It was an exceptionally high tide this morning, but it came nowhere near the place where the boat was moored. Yet when Treverton went to look at the boat this morning it was gone."

"Gone?"

"Yes, it had been taken out by someone. Treverton is sure of that. The tide had not been near it. All the rocks round were dry, but the boat was gone. The old man has been in an awful way about it all day."

"And he hasn't found it yet?"

"No, and the worst of it is that now he seems to think Dick has taken it out, and he is sure he would not be able to manage it. Old Treverton thinks no one can row that boat but himself. Still, it does seem a possible solution of the mystery. Dick may have gone out in the boat, and have been carried out by the receding tide farther than he bargained for. If so, we shall probably hear of him soon. So many ships pass the entrance to the bay that he would be in no great danger on a day like this, for the sea has been fairly calm and that old tub would not easily be overturned."

"I don't believe for a moment that my brother would take the boat," said Val.

"Well, we shall see. To my mind it is a hopeful view of the matter," said Forester.

He was glad to dismiss old Mr. Norris's suggestion from his mind. He had seen one great difficulty in accepting the theory that Dick had jumped off the rocks and been drowned, for if this had been the case surely his clothes would have been found. Still, on the other hand, he had remembered that Dick might have bathed before high tide, and the unusually high water could have carried his clothes away. Now the idea that Dick had gone out to sea in old Treverton's boat was a far less painful one to entertain, for in that case he might possibly be alive and well, and Norman Forester breathed much more freely than before.

None of the others had anything special to report except Jack. He had been to the myrtle-covered cottage which was famous on account of John Wesley's visit to it. He and Mrs. Lloyd, the old woman who lived there, had become great friends during his stay in Hildick, and as a special mark of her favour she always dusted John Wesley's chair with her apron and put it by the fire for him to sit on.

Jack had told her the trouble they were in, and in her own homely way she had expressed her sorrow and her sympathy. He asked her whether she or her husband had been on the shore early that morning, or had seen anything or anyone about. She told him that she was up early, for her husband had to go on business to a farm on the Llantrug road. He had returned not long ago, and was in the backyard.

Jack had asked if he could speak to Mr. Lloyd, and the old woman called to her husband to come in. He said that he had set off about five o'clock and driven across the marsh to the Llantrug road. No one was about in the village when he started, and when he got up the hill and looked back on the bay he saw no one on the shore. He was sorry to hear that old Treverton had lost his boat, but he had seen nothing of it in the bay, and he felt sure had it been there he would have noticed it.

"Was that all?" asked Forester.

"Well, yes, all that seemed to have anything bearing on Dick's disappearance," said Mr. Sinclair. "Mr. Lloyd had rather a curious experience farther along the road, but you won't care to hear about that. We must not lose time, must we?"

"Wait a minute," said Forester. "All evidence is worth having, whether at first sight it seems to help us or not. Would you mind telling us what Mr. Lloyd's curious experience was?"

"Well, he was driving his cart along the Llantrug road, when he came to the place where another road joins it. I think it comes from the village on the top of the hill. It isn't much of a road, I believe, more like a lane. However, just at the corner where it comes into the main road, old Mr. Lloyd came upon an upset."

"What kind of upset?

"It was a horse and trap that had come to grief. It had evidently been coming down the lane at a great pace and the horse had stumbled and fallen. It was lying on the ground when Lloyd came up."

"Well, what was there odd about that?" asked Don.

"Oh, nothing about that, of course. But what struck him was the peculiar appearance of the people in the trap."

"How many were there?"

"Only two."

"Men?"

"No, two stout females dressed in the old-fashioned style. Short full skirts and long cloaks. One had a hat on and a thick woollen veil, the other had a large bonnet and gray curls in front. They were trying to get the horse up when Mr. Lloyd got near, and he stopped his cart and went to give them a hand. He could not imagine who they were. He knows all the Garroch people well, but they told him that they had come from some village ten miles inland, and were going to see a daughter of the old woman who lived in a farm near Llantrug, and who was dangerously ill."

"What was remarkable in that?"

"Nothing at all," said Jack. "But as old Mr. Lloyd was helping them with the horse, he happened to look inside the cart."

"What did he see there?"

"He saw something covered with a rug. A long bundle of some kind, and the rug was tucked tightly over it. 'What have you got there?' he asked, for old Mr. Lloyd does not mind asking anything he wants to know."

"And what did they say?

"They said they had been pig-killing at home, and had not had time to salt the pig, so they were taking it with them to the daughter's to do it there. Old Lloyd thought this was a suspicious story, and I agree with him. If the daughter was dangerously ill, why would they take a big job like that into a sick house?"

"Did they tell him anything else?"

"Nothing else. They jumped into the trap as quickly as possible and drove off at a tearing pace towards Llantrug. Mr. Lloyd said he quite expected that the horse would be down again."

Forester nodded thoughtfully. "So what are we to make of that?" he asked.

"Well, I don't see what it has to do with us at all," said Mr. Sinclair, "unless you want to suggest that those two old dames were taking Dick away in a cart. Don't you think we ought to scatter now and continue our search?"

Norman Forester and Don Mainwaring had been together all day, and they agreed to keep together now. Forester was anxious to be on the shore, to watch the incoming tide. It was now five o'clock, and the sea was coming in apace. By this time many of the residents had come out to help in the search, and as the doctor and Don went down towards the rocks they saw the searchers scattering in all directions -- into the fields, onto the sand dunes, and among the woods round the bay.

Arriving at the shore, they found old Treverton still on the lookout for his boat. The poor man was as mournful as if he had lost a child.

"I've had her thirty years, sir," he said, "and I thought she would last my lifetime."

"Well," said Forester, "perhaps you haven't lost her. Don't despair yet. She may turn up somewhere."

"Any word of the young gentleman, sir?"

"No, not yet, but we haven't given up hope."

"Well, sir, I may be wrong, but it strikes me that the lad and the boat are together. I'm afraid they are -- very much afraid."

Forester, Don and old Treverton walked on together to the farthest point they could reach on the rocks and watched the advancing tide. Steadily, slowly but surely, it was coming in. As they stood there they could actually see the water rising. First it covered the little island far out at sea, then it swept over the stretch of seaweed-covered shore. Soon it was creeping round the high rock. It seemed only a matter of minutes before it reached the breakwater by the church. Like a relentless force it kept coming higher, and still higher.

The three men stood silently, gazing far out to sea. The old sailor had brought his small telescope with him, and was looking through it at the waves.

"What is that?" he said suddenly. "What do I see driving in towards the other side of the bay?"

He handed his glass to the doctor. "Your eyes are younger than mine, sir," he said. "Tell me what you see there."

"I see nothing yet."

"Look again, sir."

"I am looking again. Yes, now I do see something. It looks like a small speck on the water."

"It must be more than a speck for us to see it here, sir, three miles or more away."

"Look, Don," said Forester, "take the glass."

Don Mainwaring could see it too. "Seaweed," he suggested, "or perhaps a log of wood."

"It may be, or it may not be," Treverton said in an excited voice. "I shall go across the bay and watch it come in."

"We'll come with you, but we must hurry up," said Forester, "or the tide will turn and we'll be too late."

He and Don ran on ahead, and the old man followed. It was not easy to go quickly, for the tide now covered the hard sand, and the shore above high water-mark was covered with heavy and loose shingle which made it difficult to keep up any great pace.

They did not stop to take off their boots and socks when they came to the stream, but ran quickly through the water. On, and still on they hurried, and the speck was now a large object on the crest of the waves. They needed no glass to see it clearly. Each advancing wave brought it nearer, straight for the shore of the bay in which they had enjoyed that pleasant picnic only the week before.

The three men hurried on and reached the bay at last.. The busy waves had almost finished their work. The object on the water was reaching the shore. They could see it distinctly now. As they ran to meet it in the water could almost touch it. There was no room for speculation or doubt. A high wave was rising. This one would bring it within reach.

Old Treverton was running along the bay, but long before he reached the spot, Forester and Don caught it, rescued it from a receding wave, and dragged it ashore.

It was old Treverton's boat, and it had come in bottom upwards.

#  Chapter Fifteen

### Whom Shall Tell?

NORMAN FORESTER and Don Sinclair looked at each other as they stood over the boat, but neither of them spoke a word. Old Treverton helped them pull it out of reach of the waves.

"I never thought I would see her again," he said. "Let's turn her back over and take her up under the cliffs. I can't get her home tonight, because the oars are gone."

They soon managed to right the boat, and were beginning to push it along the sand when Don suddenly called out.

"What's that tied to the seat? Look, Norman!"

Forester bent forward and saw something knotted tightly round the seat; something that was soaked with salt water, hanging down bedraggled and torn at the bottom of the boat. It was a tie, like one Dick had worn only the day before.

"I suppose it is Dick's," said Forester.

"It is," said Don. "Look, here's the name of the shop: Carter Brothers, Leamington. That's where the Sinclairs come from."

They unfastened the tie, and when old Treverton had secured his boat they walked slowly back together. Still they kept their eyes on the busy sea. Would it bring anything else home tonight? Would they see any other dark object on the crest of the waves?

"He may not be washed in here," said the old man. "He may be carried far away. I've known bodies toss about on the water for weeks, ay, for months sometimes. The sea's a fickle one to deal with. One never knows when he will send his goods home. Ay, dear, and a bonny lad, too. What a pity! What a pity!"

"Norman," whispered Don, "I can't stand this. Let's get rid of him somehow."

Forester told the old sailor that they were going across the sand dunes to find the rest of the party, and they left him to go home by the shore. Don was terribly upset as they walked on together.

"Isn't it ghastly, Norman?" he said. "And to hear that old fellow talking about it like that. I couldn't have stood it another minute."

They walked on without speaking for a long time. Then Don was again the one to break the silence.

"Norman, who's going to tell the Sinclairs?"

Forester did not answer. He had been trying to face that question ever since he had seen the boat come ashore.

"Would Jack go, do you think?" Don asked.

Yes, Jack would go. Jack never shrank from any duty, however painful; but it was an awful thing to ask Jack to do. "I think I'll go to the castle myself," said Forester. He could not ask another to do what he shrank from doing himself.

"Will you tell them about the tie?" asked Don at length.

"I don't know. I think not tonight. And yet if the next tide brings ... you know what I mean, Don ... they would be more prepared."

"Yes, but what if Dick is safe, picked up by a ship, or something of that kind?"

Don's hopeful nature had asserted itself again, and Forester caught a little comfort from his words and tried to argue himself into believing that the case was not so hopeless as he had at first imagined.

It was getting dark when they reached the village, and the band of willing searchers was returning. Groups of men and lads were standing at the corner of the street discussing the sad event of the day.

"No news, sir?" they asked, as Forester and Don went by.

"None of Master Sinclair. Treverton has found his boat."

"Where? How?"

But the two young men walked on up the hill, and did not stop to answer them. Treverton would bring the news soon enough.

"Now, Don, had you not better go home and tell Jack? He could come up to the castle later on, after I've told them. It would be a comfort to them to see him."

Don agreed, and Norman Forester went on alone. As he went through the gate leading up to the ancient watchtower, he saw someone coming down the field from the castle. It was Doris Somerville. She explained that she had been with Mrs. Sinclair all the evening, and was now returning home to her father. She told him that Mr. Sinclair and the boys had just come in, and that she had persuaded little Joyce to go to bed, and had left her sobbing herself to sleep.

"You have found nothing, Doctor Forester, I suppose?"

"Yes, we have found the boat."

He told her where they had found it, and how it had come in bottom upwards, and then he showed her the tie.

"This is terrible," she said.

"I have to tell them. I must go and get it over."

"Let me walk a little way back up the hill with you," she said. "May I?"

There was a world of sympathy in her tones as she said this.

"Thank you, Miss Somerville. It is very kind of you."

Neither of them spoke for some minutes after this, but it was a comfort to Forester to feel that she was there.

"What a sad ending to our holiday," he said at length.

She did not answer, but he saw that her tears were falling fast.

They came at length to the stile leading into the castle, and she told him that she must turn back.

"It is so hard for you," she said gently. "So very hard. But I know you will be helped."

She could say no more for crying, but went slowly down the hill. Forester crossed the stile into the castle courtyard.

How he told the Sinclairs the sad news he never knew. All the sentences he had prepared left him, but other words seemed to be given him at the moment. Had Doris not said, "I know you will be helped?" He was sure that she was praying for him.

It was touching to Forester to see how the Sinclairs all clung to him, how they seemed to lean on him in their sorrow, and feel it less hard to bear when he was with them. He could not understand it, for he had a poor opinion of himself, and of his own power of showing sympathy. But he could not help noticing that they liked to have him there, and that they dreaded the thought of his leaving them.

Jack came later, and knelt with them and prayed for them, and they rose from their knees saying that they knew that they were not alone in their sorrow. Norman Forester stayed on long after Jack had gone. It was late at night when he left them, and turned out in the darkness to go to his tent.

He was so worn out when he got there that he fell asleep almost immediately. It was a troubled, disturbed sleep. He dreamed that he was on the sea being driven about by wind and tide, yet trying with all his might to reach the shore. Once he was close to a rock, but just as he was laying hold of it a hand came out and pushed him back into the water. He looked up, to see Clegg's spiteful face above him mocking at his struggles. Now he was going down for the last time, the water was closing over his head. But at that moment another hand came and drew him out, and gently brought him to land, and he heard Doris's voice say, "I knew you would be helped."

He woke in the morning with the awful feeling that something dreadful had happened, and that some painful duty awaited him. He could not at first remember what it was. Then it flashed across him and came like a terrible crushing weight. He recalled the tragic event of the day before, and realized that the awful duty which awaited him was to go to the shore and watch the morning tide come in. He calculated that it would be high tide between six and seven, but he was so restless that he was on the shore and pacing up and down long before that hour.

Old Treverton was there wandering among the rocks, and so were many others of the villagers. There was no talking to be heard. All were silently watching the sea. All were waiting for what the tide might bring. Some had walked far across the bay to the place where the boat had come in the night before. Others were standing on the rocks near the church. Old Treverton had brought his telescope and was carefully scanning the water.

But the tide came in, and the tide went out, and the sea refused to give up her dead.

That day was a far more painful and trying one than the day before. Then, there had been much to do, searching here and searching there. They had walked for miles over hill and dale, through wood and heather, along the stretches of sand, and over the tumbled masses of rock with which the shore was strewn. But now there was nothing to do but to sit still and wait for the next incoming tide. Yesterday they had clung to the possibility of Dick being alive and well. They had pictured to themselves and to each other all manner of causes that might have delayed his return, and each time that they had come back to the castle they had done so with the hope that they would find him there. But now hope had given place to despair, fear to a terrible certainty.

Doctor Forester, who the day before had held hopes that Dick's disappearance might be accounted for in quite a different way, now became convinced that the mystery was explained. Who could have taken out the boat but Dick? Was not the tie sufficient evidence of that? And because the boat had come to land bottom upwards, what else but drowning could have befallen the one who had taken her out to sea?

Yet certain though he now was of poor Dick Sinclair's fate, he felt that he could not desert the Sinclair family at the castle in their time of need. If he could be of the slightest help or comfort to them, if he could in any way lighten, even in the smallest degree, the heavy, overwhelming sorrow that had befallen them, he was persuaded that it was his clear duty to stay. So he sent another wire to his housekeeper, telling her that his return was postponed indefinitely. He made up his mind that in the meantime he would see no more of Doris than was actually necessary, but would do his best to forget his own trouble and think only of the bereavement which had come as a heavy blow upon his friends.

Mrs. Sinclair was feeling so ill that she did not get up at all that day, but the others seemed glad to have him with them. Poor Val was terribly upset. He and Dick were devoted brothers, and to lose him so suddenly seemed almost more than he could bear.

Joyce cried until she could cry no more. Forester knew she was young to have such a dark shadow brought into her life, and he was so sorry for her. He invited her to have tea with him in his tent. She brought her dogs with her, and seemed to forget her trouble for a time as she helped him boil the kettle and cut the bread and butter. Then she poured out the tea, and Forester talked to her about her life at home, her school, her dogs -- anything he could think of to turn her thoughts from what had happened.

She was a pleasant child, and her opinion on various subjects interested him. She asked him all manner of questions, some of which were not easy to answer.

"Why don't you get married?" she asked, after thinking quietly for some time.

"Oh, I don't know," said Forester. "I haven't found a wife yet, you see."

She meditated a long time over this, and Forester's thoughts had wandered on to another subject, when she said suddenly, "I don't think Don and Jack's sisters Mab or Dolly would do."

"Do for what?"

"To be your wife. They're too young."

"Much too young. Have some more jam, Joyce. There's plenty in the pot. You like strawberry jam, don't you?"

"Yes, thank you." But she was not to be turned from her point. "There's Doris," she said. "Why wouldn't she do?"

Norman Forester did not answer at once, and she went on, "I think she's nice. She put me to bed last night, and she was so kind. Don't you like her?"

"Yes, very much. But you see, Joyce, it doesn't do to choose wives for other people."

It was some time before he could turn the conversation into a fresh channel. Her kind heart was so much distressed at the thought of his being lonely. Then something reminded her of Dick, and she began to cry again, and he had once more to try to comfort her.

The evening tide came in and went out, but nothing was revealed by it. Old Treverton seemed to think that the current had carried the body far beyond the bay and out to sea.

#  Chapter Sixteen

### At the Tent Door

NORMAN FORESTER went early to his tent that night, for the Sinclairs were exhausted and were going to bed. He sat for some time at his tent door, watching the stars which were unusually brilliant and seemed to look down on him with bright and friendly eyes. He spent some time in prayer, glad that at least he could help his friends by pleading that strength and comfort would be given the Sinclair family in this heavy bereavement.

He fell asleep almost as soon as he laid his head on the pillow, and slept much more soundly than the night before. He was thoroughly tired, for he had walked miles during the last two days and needed rest as much, or more, than any of the others. But though he slept heavily he was suddenly awakened.

He was dreaming that he was walking along the shore with Doris. She was talking to him about Jack, and he was trying to seem interested and pleased, when he was alarmed by a huge piece of rock falling with a tremendous crash from the cliff above, and rolling to their feet.

Forester jumped up in bed, aroused and startled. Was it only a dream, or had there really been a noise? Oh, it was only a dream, of course. He turned over to go to sleep again. But this was not easy, for sitting up in bed had made him so wide awake that sleep would not return. He lay there, thinking of all manner of things for some little time. Then he struck a match and looked his watch. It was just two o'clock.

It was a hot, sultry night, and he thought he would open the tent door for a few minutes to admit the fresh air. Perhaps if it was cooler he would be able to sleep again. He untied the strings that fastened it and looked outside, and then he saw that the noise he had heard in his dream had not been an imaginary one.

Some dark object had fallen against the side of his tent, and was now lying huddled up against it. He stooped to discover what it was, and found that it was a man, lying on his face, with nothing on but an old shirt, the sleeves of which were torn and hanging in rags, and a pair of rough corduroy trousers. He had no shoes on, and his bare feet seemed to be bleeding.

The doctor bent over and tried to raise him, and then to his utter astonishment he saw that it was Dick Sinclair, not moving and apparently dead. He put his arms round him and dragged him into the tent. Had he found Dick only to have to break the news of his death, for a second time, to his father and mother?

* * *

But no, thank God, he was not dead. Forester had his finger on Dick's pulse, and could feel it beating faintly. He lit his lamp and carefully lifted the unconscious figure onto his bed. Then he bent down over him. What was that odour that he perceived? Ah, he knew it well. It was chloroform. What was that horrifying wound across the temple? There had been foul play of some kind. Yet what about the boat and the tie found in it? What was the solution of this awful, inexplicable mystery?

But there was no time to consider this now. He must do what he could for poor Dick. He trembled to think that it might be too late. Had Dick crept back from some place of imprisonment, only to die on the threshold of help and safety?

Forester heated some water and washed and dressed the wound. He had brought with him a little parcel of lint and strapping and other things necessary for such work. He knew that he would be fourteen miles from a chemist's shop, and he had said to himself that he might find it useful in case of any accident. How little he thought when he was packing it up that he would need that parcel so sorely. He also remembered that his thermometer was in its usual place in the breast-pocket of his coat, and he took Dick's temperature. He found that it was extremely high, and that his pulse, which was now more easily discernible, was rapid and feeble.

He examined Dick carefully and decided that he was no longer under the influence of chloroform, but he had undoubtedly been drugged by it a short time ago. Had he still been under the power of the anaesthetic he could not have come, as he had done, to the tent. He had evidently recovered from its effects, set out to return home, then fainted from utter exhaustion just as he reached the spot where he had been found.

Forester did all he could to revive him, and presently was relieved to see Dick open his eyes and look at him. But there was no sign of recognition in his face, and he soon closed his eyes again. The doctor warmed some milk and managed to make Dick swallow a little of it. Then he waited for a time, and thought out carefully what was his best course of action.

He felt that it was useless to call the Sinclairs at this early hour. In all probability they were asleep, and he would need their help later on. Besides which, he did not like to leave Dick alone. He needed constant care and watching, and it was possible that if he left him he might no longer be safe.

Who knew whether, supposing Dick to have escaped from some place of imprisonment, he might not be pursued? If he was found alone, the ruffians who had ill-treated him so shamefully might not hesitate to take his life. That Dick was very ill, Forester had no doubt, and if he was to recover from his present condition it would only be by the greatest care and most diligent nursing. So he sat beside him, feeling his pulse from time to time, and listening to the rambling mutterings of the poor boy who was evidently unconscious again.

What a long night it seemed, and how thankful he was when it began to grow light. Now the farmhands would soon be at work, and he would be able to get help. Someone was sure to be passing by to whom he could call.

But it was not until six o'clock that he heard footsteps coming up the lane. He looked out, and to his great relief saw Rupert Norris coming towards him. He went to meet him and told him what had happened, and left him to watch Dick while he went to tell the Sinclairs at the castle. He stood underneath Val's window and threw small pebbles at it until he woke him.

"Val, I need you. Come out."

In a few minutes Val joined him. "Has it been found?" he asked, with a white face.

"No, Val, no. Nothing has come ashore. It is better news than that."

"Better than that?"

"Yes, much better. Your brother is alive. Very ill, Val, but still living."

"What has happened to him? Tell me quickly!" said Val in an agitated voice.

Forester told him how he woke and found Dick close to his tent in the middle of the night. He said that what had happened to Dick was still a mystery, for he was too ill to give any explanation at present.

"Now, Val, you must tell your father."

Val ran to do this, and Forester waited in the castle courtyard. Old Mr. Norris came out and was delighted to hear that Dick had returned, and the doctor and he conferred together as to the next steps to be taken. A farmhand was to be sent at once for the nearest doctor, for Dick would need medicine and other things which Forester could not obtain; besides which, he would be glad to consult with someone else as to the best course to pursue.

Forester also obtained information from Mr. Norris as to the nearest police station, for he felt that inquiries ought to be made at once about the outrage that had been committed, so that the guilty parties could be found and arrested.

Mr. Sinclair soon joined them, and he and Val walked back with Forester to the tent. They came inside, and Mr. Sinclair was overcome when he saw his boy. Dick looked so ill, his face so white and drawn, that it did not appear possible that he could recover. The poor father, who had kept up bravely through the awful strain of the last two days, now broke down and sobbed aloud as he bent over the unconscious form on the bed. Val stood looking sorrowfully at his brother with tears in his eyes.

Norman Forester did his best to cheer them and give them hope, and he urged them to return to the castle and make sure that every effort was made immediately to solve the mystery. He also told them that if consciousness returned, it was of the utmost importance that Dick was kept perfectly quiet.

Mr. Sinclair said he was only too thankful to leave his boy entirely in the doctor's hands, and he promised that they would be guided in all things by Forester's opinion, in which the family had the greatest possible confidence.

So all the morning Forester watched in the quiet tent. When Doctor Taylor came, they thoroughly examined Dick Sinclair and found several severe bruises on different parts of his body. The wound on the head appeared to have been caused by his falling heavily forward on some sharp surface, and they also discovered the marks of a serious blow on the back of the head.

"I should say," said Doctor Taylor, "that someone came up behind and felled him to the ground. In falling forward his head was cut open, and he must have been completely stunned by the blow and unconscious for a long time afterwards.

Forester agreed with this opinion, and they consulted together as to the best treatment. There was evidently concussion of the brain, which accounted for many of the symptoms which were present, and they both felt that if Dick was to recover he would need the greatest care.

That care Forester was prepared to give. He had consulted with Doctor Taylor as to the advisability of moving Dick into the castle, but they agreed that at present perfect quiet was absolutely necessary. It would be running a great risk to attempt to carry him so far in the present state of affairs.

In the afternoon Mrs. Sinclair came to the tent, and Forester left her and Val in charge while he went to get a little fresh air and exercise. The night had been a great strain on him. As he was intending to sit up again that night, he felt that he would be the better for a little rest and change, and Mrs. Sinclair was only too glad to take his place.

He wandered down to the shore and saw Jack and Don Mainwaring and the three girls sitting under the breakwater. They all came to meet him, anxious to hear the latest news of Dick. They told him that the police officers had arrived, and had been going round the village making inquiries about what had happened. They had also been at the castle, and Mr. Sinclair had told them about Clegg and De Jersey, and how Dick had told them that he was keeping an eye on the two men.

Everyone agreed that it was possible that the two visitors had looked on Dick as a spy, and had taken their revenge by inflicting on him the serious injuries which he seemed to have sustained. But what was Dick doing that night, and how had he come into contact with these men?

"Where are the police now?" asked Forester.

"They have gone across the headland to see that fellow Daniel, and hear what he has to say about it. Someone in the village told them that Daniel has been seen several times talking to those two men, and they think that he probably knows where they are."

The doctor then proposed that they should all walk along the shore in that direction to meet the police officers and hear what they had discovered. After a time they left the rocks and climbed the hill, and by crossing over the common at the top they arrived at the cottage only a few minutes after the police.

The cottage door stood open. They went in, but Daniel was not there. The two policemen were looking round the room, but there was no fire in the grate and the whole place seemed deserted. Some empty glasses smelling of whisky stood on the table; an old pair of boots lay on the hearth; a pack of playing cards was scattered over the old horsehair couch. There was a curious faint odour about the whole place. They were glad to get outside and sit on the rocks while the policemen searched the house further, endeavouring to find out some clue to the mystery.

Presently, one of the men came to the door and called to Forester. "Look here, doctor," he said, for Jack had explained that he was the doctor who was looking after Dick.

Forester went to the cottage door. "Well, have you found anything?"

"Yes, sir. Come and see."

The doctor followed them into the small outhouse at the back, from which he had fetched coal on the night which he spent in the cottage, and the policeman pointed to the floor. It was stained with blood.

"What do you make of that, doctor?"

Forester went down on his knees and carefully examined the bloodstains. "Only a day or two old, I should say, by the look of it."

"Now, doctor," said the other man, "if you and your party will clear off, me and my mate will watch for the return of this gentleman as lives here. He's not gone far, or he wouldn't have left his door wide open. And when he comes back we'll hear what he has to say about these blood marks."

They left the cove as quickly as possible, and as it was low tide they walked back by the shore. Forester kept well ahead with Mab and Dolly, leaving Jack and his brother Don to follow with Doris.

"Now, if Don had any tact he would be walking with us," he said to himself.

When they came to the church they rested on the rocks, and the three who were behind joined them. Forester looked at his watch.

"I must go now," he said. "I told Mrs. Sinclair I would be back at five, in time to give Dick his medicine."

They all walked on together until they came to the road leading to the village. At the corner Doris stopped.

"Father wants Billy and Joyce to come to us for tea," she said. "I'm just going to fetch them. Do you mind if I walk up the hill with you, Doctor Forester?"

Did he mind? His heart gave a great bound of joy at the thought of it. And yet ... and yet... But there was no getting out of it now, so they walked on together, not speaking at all at first.

"I feel sure Dick will get better," Doris said at length.

"I hope so. He is certainly better this afternoon."

"Oh, I know he will. We have so prayed for it."

"Yes, we have."

"And I know what care you are taking of him, but you must be so tired. Do you think you ought to sit up with him for another night?"

"Doctors are accustomed to do without much sleep," he said.

"Are they?"

"When I go to bed I never know how long I shall stay there. The night-bell has a knack of ringing just when I'm falling off to sleep."

There was silence again, and all the time Forester was feeling that he ought to congratulate Doris on her engagement with Jack, but somehow or other the words would not come. He measured the distance they had yet to walk before reaching the castle. He tried to settle what he would say and how he would say it, but still he kept putting it off from moment to moment. At last he thought he would lead up to the subject, and said, "What a splendid fellow Jack is!"

"Yes," she said, "he is, and you've known him so long. Jack was telling me last night about the time you were at school together, and what friends you were."

"I'm glad he's so happy, so very glad."

"Oh, Jack's always happy," she said. "I've never known him depressed or gloomy."

"But I know how specially happy he is just now. He told me as we came up the hill the other night. He's such an old friend of mine, and he knew I would keep his secret. I wanted you to know how glad I am."

"I knew you would be glad," she said.

And just then Joyce came running down the hill with her dogs to meet them, and he had no opportunity to say anything more. Well, Doris would understand all that he meant to say, and he was glad that he had made the attempt to express his good wishes for them both. He would feel more easy and natural now when he met her, as he would be sure to do from time to time during the next few days, for he was determined not to leave Hildick until the patient was out of danger.

He went back to the tent and found Dick cooler and better. His pulse was more steady, and there had been no sickness. So although Dick was still unconscious, he felt much more hopeful about him. He told Mrs. Sinclair this, and she went back to the castle greatly cheered.

Dick was quiet now. The incoherent rambling talk had ceased, and soon after taking his medicine he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Forester boiled the kettle, ate some tea, and then sat quietly watching him. How busy his thoughts were that evening, how madly they seemed to be racing through his tired brain. He thought of Jack and Doris. He wondered what they would be doing now, how happy they would be, how they would be revelling in each other's presence and in the joy of knowing that they were all in all to each other. Then his thoughts raced back to that great trouble he had experienced before leaving home, and which now seemed so long gone by. What a terrible mistake he had nearly made, and how foolish he had been to be disappointed that God's hand had been put out to save him from his own folly.

With lightning rapidity his thoughts flew on to the future, and he planned and pictured the life he would live when he went back to London. It would be lonely, as far as earthly companionship was concerned. He remembered how little Joyce Sinclair had pitied him for this, and he felt that he would realize this loneliness all the more, going as he would from this large and happy party to finding himself with no one to whom he could speak except his housekeeper.

"But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay."

He seemed to hear Doris's voice saying these words of the hymn to him. Was she saying them, or was she singing them? He gave himself a shake. He was falling asleep, and he must not do that. He got up and moved about the tent, and as he did so, he heard a whisper outside.

"Forester, can you come here a minute?"

It was Dick's brother Val. "I thought you were both asleep," he said. "All was so quiet."

"Dick is sleeping peacefully, and I think I did doze a little. Well, what about the police?"

"One of them has just called at the castle to say that Daniel never returned. They are of opinion that he will not come back now, and they are trying to discover where he has gone. Forester, I came to ask you to let me sit with you tonight. I'm sure I won't be much use," continued Val, "but I could boil the kettle and hand you things, and I would so like to stay. I've brought a camp chair with me."

Forester was glad to accept this offer, and then Val persuaded him to go to the castle for supper, leaving him in charge. About an hour after this they settled down for the night. Val had brought some milk and beef tea, and all they would need in the way of nourishment for Dick. The two young men lay back in their camp chairs to watch beside him and face together the long hours of the night.

It was a great comfort to Norman Forester to have a companion with him. Now and again they spoke softly to each other, and Val's great desire was to be of use and save him trouble in every way.

"If you fall asleep, Forester, never mind," Val said. "I'll wake you if my brother stirs the least little bit, and I'm not at all sleepy."

Forester protested that he was not tired, but his face told another tale, and soon, when Val Sinclair looked up from his book, he saw that he was fast asleep in his chair. Val looked at his book again and was just turning over a fresh page when he heard his own name. He looked up in surprise to see Dick looking at him with a steady, conscious gaze.

"Val, where am I?"

"You're all right, Dick. You're in Forester's tent, and he and I are both with you."

Forester heard the voices and woke with a start. He was delighted beyond measure to see the change in his patient, but he would not allow him to speak another word until he had partaken of some nourishment. Val's quick fingers poured the beef tea into the saucepan, lit the stove, warmed and then poured it out and brought it to Norman Forester to administer.

Dick smiled his own bright, cheery smile as they bent over him, Val gently raising his pillow with his arm, and Forester feeding him from an invalid cup.

"Have they gone?" Dick asked.

"Who, Dick?" asked Val.

"Those men."

"Oh, they're miles away by now."

That seemed to content him, and he turned a little to one side, and fell asleep again. Forester and Val exchanged glances, but said nothing.

Once again in the night Dick woke, and looked anxiously round the tent.

"What is it, Dick?"

"I thought I saw someone standing there."

"There's no one here," said Forester soothingly. "No one but me and your brother Val."

"You'll keep them out, won't you?"

"Of course we will. Take your milk, Dick, and then go to sleep again."

So the night wore away, and in the morning Dick was so much better that Forester allowed his mother to come and see him and sit with him. But he absolutely forbade all conversation, and warned Mrs. Sinclair that he believed that the consequences could be most serious if Dick was allowed to dwell on what had happened to him during those two days of which as yet they knew nothing.

#  Chapter Seventeen

### The Spiral Staircase

IT WAS NOT until some days had passed, and Dick had to a great extent recovered his strength and was able to sit up in a chair in a shady spot outside Forester's tent, that the doctor considered him sufficiently recovered to tell what had happened to him.

Forester was sitting beside him when Dick said suddenly, "I want to tell you about that night, Forester."

"Yes, Dick, tell me. But if you feel it tires your head or makes the pain return, stop at once."

"I will, Forester. Where shall I begin?"

"Begin at the beginning," said Norman Forester, laughing.

"So I will. Let me see, what day of the week was it?"

"Sunday night."

"Oh yes, Sunday night. My younger brother Billy was sleepy, and went early to bed. I came up last, for I stopped to talk to old Mister Norris, and they had such a fine fire that I didn't feel inclined to go up. It must have been nearly eleven when I went upstairs. I passed through Val's room, and he was asleep. Then I went to my own, and Billy was snoring too."

"Then I suppose you got undressed?" said Forester, as Dick stopped.

"No, I didn't. I'm trying to remember what came next. Oh, I know. I found a book on the dressing table that Billy had been reading, and I picked it up to see what it was, and it looked rather interesting, so I sat down and started reading it."

"Well," said Forester," and when did you go to bed?"

"I didn't. I went on reading for more than an hour. All was quiet. There wasn't a sound in the house. That stupid old clock seemed to be the only thing awake, and it made me jump whenever it struck. I turned sleepy at last, and had just settled to go to bed when I heard a noise. It was those footsteps again."

Norman Forester moved a pillow behind Dick to allow him to sit up slightly. "Go on," he said.

"I had not heard them for several nights. I put my ear to the turret and listened. Old Norris had declared that it was solid and there was nothing inside it whatever. But as I listened I felt sure that he was wrong. I was certain that there was a spiral staircase in the turret, just as there is in that one by the gate which leads up into the loft above. I could distinctly hear the footsteps, sometimes going up the staircase, sometimes going down.

"I sat and puzzled where the exit could be, and I could think of no place at the bottom where it could possibly come out, nor could I remember any place above to which this staircase could lead. I determined, however, that I wouldn't go to sleep until I found out.

"The others had laughed so much about my ghost, so now I was going to prove to them that I was right. I picked up a candle and matches and crept out of the room so as not to wake Billy. I stole like a thief through Val's room, but he never stirred. Then I crept quietly along the corridor. I knew that if any of them heard me they would not believe about the footsteps, and would not let me go out. The stairs creaked as I went down, and I felt sure Rupert would wake, but he didn't. I wish now that he had."

"Now, Dick, not another word until you've had some milk." Forester jumped up and brought it across.

"Now may I go on?"

"Yes, if you're not too tired."

"I'm all right, I think, and it's such a relief to tell somebody. Well, I went into the parlour and crept outside. Then I made my way to the tool house. You know where I mean, where Mr. Norris's grandmother once lived. Rupert had lost the key. He lost it before we came, so I knew I would be able to get in."

"It was horribly eerie and dark in there. I struck a match and lit the candle. I passed the bed place and tried to find out if anyone was hiding there, but I could see no one. Then I found my way to the steps going up into the loft. A fearful wind was blowing there, and it blew out my candle. I lit it again and went on. You know how that stone staircase winds around, and as I took each turn I didn't know what I was going to see.

"Well, at last I got to the top, and there was the loft. It looked weird, just lit up by my candle. There was that strange old bed, and the spinning-wheel, and everything looked exactly as usual. I picked my way among apples and onions, and it felt awfully cold, and I began to think I'd come on a fool's errand. There wasn't a sign of anybody. I think I would have gone back to bed if a gust of wind hadn't blown out my candle again. And then I saw a light."

"A light, Dick? Where?"

"Just a glimmer of light, and it seemed to come from the floor in the far corner of the loft. I went up to the place, and what do you think I saw?"

"I can't guess, Dick. Go on."

"Well, I saw that some of the boards in the floor had been taken up, and that there was a large hole."

"What sort of a hole?"

"Like a trap door, and just underneath it I saw steps."

"Stone steps?"

"Yes, stone steps, another winding staircase. And in a tiny niche in the stone wall close to the top was a small oil lamp. That was the light I had seen."

"What did you do next?"

"Why, I went down, of course. 'Someone must have lit that lamp,' I said to myself. 'I'm on the scent now, sure enough.' Well, I started down, and the steps wound round and round and round. I knew I was in the turret which old Norris thought was solid and which stands in the corner of our bedroom. I had lit my candle again, and could see the round wall of the inside of the tower. I guessed I must be passing the back of Billy's room, and I wondered if he'd hear me and think I was a ghost. I had just got as far as that, when what do you think I heard?"

"A real ghost?" asked Forester.

"I heard footsteps, coming down the steps behind me. There was no going back now without being seen, so I determined to go on. But I own, Forester, I wished then that I was on Billy's side of the wall."

"Now you're getting flushed, Dick. Stop a bit, and tell me after."

"I can't stop, Forester; I must tell you the rest. Do let me. Well, I heard my own footsteps going down and down, and I heard those other footsteps coming after me. As I wound round and round it seemed like a horrible dream. Where was I going, and what should I see at the bottom? It seemed a lifetime while I went down those steps, with those footsteps slowly but surely pursuing me.

"I concluded that I must be far below the level of the house, and entering some underground dungeon. The air felt damp and cold, and the steps were wet under my feet. The walls of the turret felt slimy, like the sides of a well. I would have given worlds at that moment to be safely in bed, but there was no possibility of retreat, for those footsteps were behind me. At last I saw in front of me a bright light.

"I turned the last corner of the winding stair and could see that it led into a small square chamber like a vault. On the floor lay a glittering mass of jewels, rings, gold chains, gold and silver cups and vases, beautifully carved images and crucifixes, besides piles of golden coins. Kneeling on the floor, with their backs turned to me, I saw two men hastily packing all these sparkling things into a large sack. They did not see me, but I could see them distinctly. They were Clegg and De Jersey."

"But you saw them leave Hildick in the coach for Llantrug," said Forester.

"They did, and made a great show of waving goodbye to everyone. It was all a pretence so no one would think any more about them. They must have returned secretly that night."

"I always told you they were up to mischief," said Forester. "I knew it. Now, Dick, do stop if it tires you."

"It doesn't tire me, Forester. I was just on the point of speaking to them and asking them what they were doing, when suddenly I was struck down from behind. I remember nothing more. Now, I can see that I must have fallen and cut my head badly. I was so stunned, either by the blow or by the fall or by both, that I must have been unconscious for a long time after that. I don't know what they did with me, or how I got out of that place. All I know is that I never walked up that winding staircase, so I suppose they must have carried me."

Norman Forester felt Dick's pulse, and when he found that he was not unduly exciting himself he allowed him to go on.

"What do you remember next, Dick?"

"The next thing I remember was finding myself alone, out of doors somewhere, lying on my back. I could feel that I was lying on leaves or moss. I couldn't imagine how I'd got there, but I looked up and saw branches overhead and a bright star shining through them.

"Forester, I thought it was like God's eye watching me, and I asked Him to take care of me. I couldn't lift my head up. I put my hand to it and felt that it was bleeding, and I remember feeling awfully sick and dizzy. I wondered if those men had left me there to die.

"But at last I heard voices, and I knew that they were coming. They seemed to be coming slowly, and as they got near I found out that they were carrying something, for I heard them say it was an awful weight. Then they sat down under the tree close to me, and I kept my eyes tight shut so they wouldn't know I was listening. I didn't dare look at them, but I found out that there were three of them, Clegg, De Jersey and another."

"Daniel, I expect," said Forester.

"Yes, it was Daniel. I found that out afterwards, but I didn't know him then. I think I can remember all that they said, for I listened attentively. Clegg began by asking if the boat was down below, and the voice I didn't know answered that he had her ready, and that old Treverton would open his eyes wide in the morning when he came to look for her. Then Clegg gave his orders to the other two. They were to carry their load down to the boat and then come back for me. 'Take a look at him, Daniel,' he said. 'Has he got his eyes open?'

"Daniel took a long look, but I was prepared. 'Not yet. He's fair stunned like. That was a rattling blow I gave him on his skull, the prying young imp! I only wish I'd finished him off while I was about it!'

"'No, no, Daniel,' said Clegg, "we don't want to swing for it. Do what you like to him, but not that. Have you got the bottle?'

"'The chloroform bottle? Ay, I've got it. I had my suspicions he was prying after us. Now see what a good job it is I got hold of it. I had mighty hard work to get it. I tried at a lot of places, and they wouldn't let me have it, and then I got it just by luck, as you may say. My old mother's cousin has a chemist's shop, and I saw this 'ere bottle on a shelf last time I was over there. Says I, Daniel, that may come in useful to you one of these days. So I puts it in my pocket, and here it is. Now I'm going to give this 'ere spy a dose of it, that's what I'm a-going to do. Sleeping dogs can't tell no tales. That's what I say.' The next moment he threw a handkerchief over my head, and then I remember nothing more."

"Nothing more at all, Dick?"

"Oh yes, I do remember more, but not what happened next, or for a long time after that. I think now that they must have done as they proposed, carried the treasure down to the boat first, and then come back for me. They had evidently moored the boat somewhere below the wood. Then I feel sure they rowed us all round the headland to the cove beyond."

"You mean where Daniel's cottage is?"

"Yes, for when I became conscious again I found myself in that cottage, lying on a stone floor in some kind of outhouse. I could see a brush in one corner, and some pieces of wood and a little coal. The door of this back place was left ajar, and I could see a light in the room beyond. The three men were in there, and I think they were drinking, for I heard the clink of glasses and could smell whisky.

"Then I discovered that Clegg and De Jersey were going off almost immediately in a horse and trap which was waiting for them at the door. I think they were disguising themselves, for they were laughing at each other and Clegg told De Jersey that he made a first-rate old woman. I gathered that they were taking the treasure with them, but I also discovered that they were bringing more parcels from some hiding-place in the cottage.

"They had evidently been at work at the castle for some time, and had found the hidden treasure by degrees, and carried pieces as they found them to Daniel's cottage, making him give them a receipt for each bundle. I could hear them checking off these receipts, and counting everything in each parcel. They made a great row about a crucifix which was missing, and at last Daniel brought it from somewhere and said it had been found on the floor.

"After this, there was a great wrangling about money. Daniel wanted more than they had agreed on. He said it was a risky job, and he ought to be well paid, and at last they agreed to give him extra. But there was one thing that they insisted on, and that was that he would stop where he was, so as to give them time to get off abroad with their jewels. 'Some idiot may have seen us together,' said Clegg, 'and then they'll come straight down here. And if they find that young shaver lying in there, it'll be all up with our game. So you've got to stick here, Daniel, until tomorrow night, and let no one come in.'

"'I don't see the fun of that,' said Daniel. 'You two goes off with your riches, and then what will the castle folk do? Why, get the police down, and a warrant with them, and they'll walk in and search the place, and then it's me that's got to be made a convick of, and it's you that gets off scot free.'

"'Now look here,' said Clegg, 'you'll be all right if you'll only do as I tell you. We've turned old Treverton's boat bottom up and sent it out with the tide, and we've fastened this lad's tie on it. They'll find the boat, and they'll be so busy looking for his body that they won't have time to trouble you.'

"'Well,' he said at last, 'pay me some more and I'll stay.'

"They swore and they quarrelled for ever so long over that, but at last they gave in. They paid Daniel the extra money he demanded, and then they asked him what he was planning to do with me. You can fancy how I listened then, Forester. He told them he had his chloroform bottle, and he didn't need them to teach him -- he knew what to do.

"Soon after this I heard them drive away, and presently that wretch Daniel came to get coal, and he kicked me on the head with his boot as he passed by. I was awfully sick, and my head was terribly bad, and soon after I became unconscious again. I can't remember anything of that day or the next. You are sure it was Tuesday night when you found me outside your tent?"

"Quite sure, Dick. Wednesday morning rather, for it was two o'clock."

"I fancy he must have kept me under the influence of chloroform more or less the whole time, and that he gave me a good dose of it just before he left. Whether he stopped as long as he promised them, I don't know. When I came to myself it was dark and all was still. I didn't dare to move for a long time. I was afraid Daniel might be asleep in the next room, and it would wake him. But as time went on I thought I'd go to the cottage door and peep in. But I could see nothing, for there was not a ray of light. I felt so faint I thought I would fall, but I steadied myself against the doorpost. Then I felt for my pocket, for I knew I had a box of matches there. But I found that my coat was gone, and that I had nothing on but an old shirt.

"Then I guessed that when he left, Daniel had taken away my clothes while I was unconscious from the chloroform. I wasn't so frightened then, but made my way to a chair and sat down until I felt better and less faint. Then I felt about on the table, and to my great joy found a box of matches. I struck one or two, and by their light I found his old trousers which he had left on the couch. I put them on, horrid dirty old things."

"I've had great pleasure in making a bonfire of them," said Forester.

"Well, his boots were there too, and I put my feet in them. But they were much too heavy for me, so I settled to come barefoot. The man had evidently taken my boots as well as my clothes."

"Well, Dick, what did you do then?"

"Set out for home, but I never thought I'd get there alive. I fainted several times, and my feet were sore and bleeding. I felt worse than I've ever felt in my life. When I got to the heather I lay a long time in a dead faint, and then when I came to myself I prayed to God to help me to get just as far as your tent."

"And He did help you, Dick."

"Yes, He did. And, oh, Forester, you have been good to me."

"Not at all, Dick, not at all. Now that's the last word I'm going to allow you to speak. Here's your brother Val coming with your beef tea. Now, what you've got to do is to forget all about what you've told me, and try to get well as soon as you can. Look, your young sister Joyce is coming with the dogs. Now I'm leaving her and Val in charge of you, and going for a walk to clear my head."

#  Chapter Eighteen

### The Secret Drawer

NORMAN FORESTER felt that no time ought to be lost if those three men were to be brought to justice. He did not even stop to tell Mr. Sinclair what he had heard, but went down to the village at once to wire the police station at Llantrug.

Needless to say, the matter was taken up immediately. Most diligent and persistent inquiries were made, special detectives were called in who endeavoured to get on the track of Clegg and his assistants; but, unfortunately, so much time had been lost that the thieves had been able to escape with their plunder, and they could trace nothing of their movements.

Without saying a single word to Dick of their intentions, Mr. Sinclair, Rupert, Val, and Forester determined to visit the loft and discover the entrance to the secret staircase.

They had no difficulty in finding the corner where the turret stood, but it was another matter to discover how to open the trap door to get onto the winding steps. There was apparently no sign of it in that corner of the floor. They noticed that there were two short pieces of plank in the flooring, which appeared to have been joined to the longer planks running across the loft, but these seemed to be firmly fixed underneath the skirting board at the bottom of the wall of the room.

In this skirting board, however, they discovered a sliding panel, and when this had been pushed back, the two short boards could easily be removed from the floor and the entrance to the staircase stood revealed. As they descended the narrow stone steps they realized how poor Dick must have felt as he walked on down and heard footsteps coming from behind.

At the bottom they came to the underground chamber in which the treasure had been found. They could see the various holes and excavations made by Clegg and his companions in the course of their search, and they agreed that Dick was right in imagining that the booty from the old shipwreck had been discovered in different parts of this underground cell. The men must have taken several weeks to dig them up and carry them away.

"But," said Forester, as he was sitting that evening in his favourite place on the settle in the old kitchen, "we have not yet got to the bottom of the mystery. How on earth did those men know that this treasure was hidden in the castle? And even if they did know, how did they ever manage to discover in which part of the ruins it was to be found?"

They all agreed with the doctor that no solution of this difficulty had as yet come to light.

"I think you must have told Clegg about that French ship, father," said Rupert. "You were speaking to him at length when he was here in the spring, and you took him round the castle."

"Well, now I come to think of it, I believe I did," said the old man. "You see, he came with such a fair tongue saying he was an antiquarian, and took so much interest in old places and old things, and he asked me so many questions about the castle. Yes, Rupert, I believe I did tell him."

"Will you tell me?" asked Don Mainwaring, who was sitting on the settle beside Forester. "I haven't heard about this French ship."

"Well," said the old man, "it was in the days of old Sir John Mandeville, when he lived here in Hildick castle. There was an awful storm one night, and this ship was wrecked just outside the bay."

"Where was it going?"

"It was on its way to Scotland. James IV was king of Scotland then, the man that was later killed on Flodden Field. You'll remember about him, sir."

"I do," said Forester, "but why was the ship going to Scotland?"

"The King of France wanted to get King James over to his side to help him fight King Henry VII of England. Well, he found out that James was very poor. His father had left him a good hoard, but he had spent every farthing of it and now he was hard up. That king of France felt sure that if he could only fill up King James' treasury, why, then he could make him do just what he wanted. So he packed up a lot of presents, jewels and gold and silver, and all the rest of it. He didn't like to send his ship across the English Channel, for he thought King Henry might get wind of it and seize it, so he sent it up our way along the Irish Sea to Glasgow."

"But it never got there?" said Don.

"No, it was wrecked on the way, and most of the treasure went down in the storm. What was washed ashore old Sir John Mandeville seized and brought up to the castle here, and nobody knew what he did with it."

"I suppose he had that underground chamber made to keep all his things secure in case of attack," said Forester.

"I suppose so, sir. They were wild days then, and no man's property was safe, and Sir Harry D'Arcy across the bay had his eye on the treasure and tried hard to get it. So old Sir John hid it, and soon after that he died, and soon after that the family moved away from Hildick Castle and went to another estate grander than this. One that King Henry VIII gave them. That was when we Norrises came to live here, in this part of the old house."

"It's a wonder they didn't take the treasure with them," said Don.

"It is a wonder, sir, but perhaps they did not know where it was. Old Sir John was a close and secret man, and the son was only young when he died. Anyhow the secret seems to have died out, and I'm sure my father and my grandfather never had the least idea that the treasure was still in the castle, and I'm sure I hadn't."

"Nor I, father," said Rupert. "It would have been found long ago if I had got wind of it."

"Then how in the world did Clegg get to know it was here?" asked Forester. "And how, knowing this, did he manage to discover the place in which it was hidden?"

Those were questions which none of them could answer. Many years went by before that part of the mystery was solved. Old Mr. Norris had passed away, and Rupert's children were growing up to manhood and womanhood before any explanation was found of what had so much puzzled them. The solution came in the form of a letter addressed as follows:

Mr. Rupert Norris,

Hildick Castle,

Nr. Llantrug,

Wales.

It was written on foreign paper, and the postmark on it was that of Kimberley, South Africa. The letter was from a lawyer in Kimberley who wrote to inform Rupert that a few weeks earlier he had made the will of a man who went by the name of Joseph Carrington. This man had since died, and now it was the lawyer's duty to inform Rupert Norris, of Hildick Castle, that the said Joseph Carrington had bequeathed to him the whole of his personal estate, amounting to a large fortune. Arrangements were already being made to transfer the money to a bank in Llantrug.

Rupert was utterly astonished, for he had never even heard of a man of the name of Joseph Carrington; but when the lawyer's letter went on to inform him that he had known the testator by the name of Joseph Clegg, and that the will had been made in his favour as a reparation for the inconvenience caused by him fourteen years before, Rupert began to understand the reason of his unexpected legacy.

The lawyer enclosed a sealed envelope which Clegg had requested him to forward to Rupert Norris after his death, and which, he had told the lawyer, would give Mr. Norris information which he might be interested to receive. Of what nature this information was, the testator had not disclosed to the lawyer, and he forwarded the envelope just as he had received it from Joseph Carrington.

When he had finished this letter, Rupert opened the sealed letter. Inside he found two papers. One of these was a statement written by Clegg, to the effect that his curiosity had been excited by old Mr. Norris's account of the shipwreck and of the treasure brought by Sir John to the castle.

Then, soon after, he had bought in one of the cottages on Garroch an old oak bureau. The woman who sold it to him said that she believed it was hundreds of years old, and that it had once been in Hildick Castle. She told him that her great .grandfather had bought it at a sale. He said that he paid the woman for it and took this bureau away with him. When he reached home he examined it carefully. He was fond of old pieces of furniture, and he had a craze for hunting in them for secret drawers or other hiding places.

At first it seemed as if this bureau would not prove to contain any private receptacle; but one day, to his great delight, he discovered one quite by chance. It had evidently been unopened for years. No one had touched the spring since the days of old Sir John Mandeville. He enclosed the paper which he found in the secret drawer, so that Rupert could see how he had been guided in his search for the treasure. The paper referred to was yellow with age, and was torn in several places.

Rupert spread it out before him, and after puzzling for a long time over the old English in which it was written, he was able to read the following words:

To my Deare Sonne for Guidance,

Would'st thou ye treasure find?

Do thou descend;

Lower, and lower still,

Then downward bend.

Search thou by day and night,

Till thou hast brought to light

Twelve heaps of treasure bright;

That is the end.

There was also a plan of the floor, with measurements showing the locations of the twelve caches. After reading this paper, it was easy for Rupert to see why Clegg, when he had carefully explored every nook and cranny of the castle, came to the conclusion that none of the steps he had already seen were the ones which the writer of the paper urged his son to descend. He seemed accordingly to have hunted about until he found some place where a secret staircase could have been made. The turret had evidently appeared to him to be just the place for which he was looking. How he had discovered the way to lift the trapdoor they never knew. Probably his previous experience in opening secret drawers had greatly assisted him in his search. Anyhow, he had somehow or other found the sliding panel and managed to lift the door and get on the spiral staircase. Then, with the directions in his hand, all was easy.

Clegg knew exactly in how many different portions he would unearth the treasure, and their position. As each of these came to light, he and De Jersey had removed what they found to Daniel's cottage. They had evidently been bringing one of these bundles to the cove on the night when Forester stayed with Daniel's dying father.

Daniel never knew when they would come, for he could not tell how soon the next portion of the treasure would be unearthed. He must have been reluctant to go for the doctor while Forester remained with his father, lest Clegg and De Jersey should arrive in his absence bringing more treasure to the cottage. He had been compelled at last to depart, and had gone trusting that no discovery would be made that night. Clegg, happily for himself, had left the bundle with De Jersey under the hedge outside, so that Forester saw nothing of it when he opened the door.

So ended the story of the Hildick Castle treasure. But the old paper with the writing on it in faded ink was carefully preserved by Rupert as an interesting curiosity, to be handed down as a family heirloom to generations yet unborn.

#  Chapter Nineteen

### What Do You Advise?

DICK soon recovered from the effects of his horrifying adventure, and in a short time was able to return to the castle and take his part in all that was going on. Forester now felt that the time had come to return to London. The cause for his delay was gone, and the sooner he put miles of distance between himself and Doris Somerville, the better it would be for him. He would go to the post office and send a telegram to his housekeeper. He would also order his horse and cab, and the next morning he and Maxie would take the tent down.

On his way down the hill he called at the castle for his letters as usual. Young Joyce Mainwaring ran to meet him, holding out her hand.

"Two letters for you, Doctor Forester," she called out. "Aren't you lucky this morning?"

He took them from her, and opened them as he went down the hill. The first was in the handwriting of his old housekeeper. It told him that she had just received bad news. Her eldest son was seriously ill in Newcastle, and was anxious to see her again. As there was no time to ask the doctor about it, she had started at once for the north. She had locked up the flat and told the policeman to keep an eye on it. She hoped it would not put her master to inconvenience, but the senior doctor, Doctor Fraser, had told her that he did not expect Doctor Forester back for some time yet.

The second letter was from his partner, the Doctor Fraser whom Mrs. Timmis had named. He also mentioned the housekeeper's departure, and at the same time urged Forester to stay away for at least another two weeks. There was nothing in the world to do, Doctor Fraser assured him. Nearly everyone was out of town, and those who were not away were keeping well and did not need looking after, so what could be the object of his returning?

Doctor Fraser reminded Forester how good he had been in relieving him, and doing all the work single-handed for three months in the spring while he was recuperating in the Riviera after his illness. He went on to say that he was sure that a longer holiday was necessary after the shock and trouble Forester had experienced just before he left home.

"You have borne it like a man, Forester," he wrote, "but these things take out of one. And remember we may have a hard winter before us."

After receiving this kind letter, and after hearing of his housekeeper's absence, Forester hardly knew what to do. He thought perhaps his best plan would be to pack up his tent and send it away, and then to go for a walking tour in North Wales. He had been there once when he was a boy, and he would like to see it again.

On his way down to the shore he met Don Mainwaring who was in the best of spirits as usual.

"Isn't it jolly that everyone's well again, and that we're going to have a marvelous time to end up with?"

"Yes, I hope you will, Don."

"And you too, Forester."

"Well, no, I'm thinking of ending my holiday in North Wales."

"Never!" said Don. "Come, Forester, you couldn't be so unfeeling as to leave us now. You couldn't, you know; and we've got all sorts of picnics in the wind. We're going to have a wonderful time this next fortnight. Jack will be mad with you, I know, when he hears."

"Where is Jack?"

"Oh, he's off to Llantrug. Didn't you know? His girl is coming this evening by train, and he's gone to meet her."

"His girl? What do you mean, Don?"

"Why, the girl he's engaged to. He said he told you about it. It was to be a secret, and no one to know, and all that rubbish; but the girl's father is working round by degrees. He's been rather a difficult fellow to deal with, but he has now given permission for her to come here and stay with Doris."

"With Doris? With Miss Somerville, do you mean?"

"Yes, of course. You see, they're old friends. They were at school together, and very close. That's how Jack got to know this girl. He met her first at their house, a long time ago -- four or five years, I should think, when she was quite young, sixteen or seventeen, something like our sister Dolly, with her hair only just up. Well, he was much smitten with her then, and when he went to work in Manchester, lo and behold, he found she was living close by. In the next parish I believe, and of course after that they saw each other almost every day."

"But I thought you told me, Don, that Jack had always admired your cousin, Miss Somerville?"

"Did I? Oh yes, I remember, that picnic day. Well, he has always liked her, and they've been great friends ever since they were children. I told you about that photo, didn't I? And I thought, well, we all thought, that perhaps it would end in his liking Doris Somerville in a different sort of way. You see, we knew nothing about this girl in Manchester. He kept it close, and only told us he had met a friend of Doris's, and so on. We never had the least idea of what was going on. Doris knew, though. She has known all along, and it's Doris who has made it come all right now."

"How?" Forester asked.

"Well, you see, Miss Leslie always wrote to Doris. They've been almost like sisters. They go to stay with each other every year for a month at a time. Soon after we got here Doris received a letter from this girl saying how unhappy she was, and how she loved Jack, and how her father wouldn't let her speak to him nor write to him.

"Anyway, she sent him her love in Doris's letter, and she said she thought if he would write once more to her father and tell him that he would be patient and wouldn't want to get married until he had a living, perhaps her father would come round. So Doris told Jack, and he wrote, and the day of the picnic he got an answer. That was why he kept Doris behind. He wanted to read the letter to her, because he knew how glad she would be.

"And then in the afternoon they were talking it over in the wood when we thought they were in the castle. That was when Doris said she'd write and ask Miss Leslie to come and stay with her here. Wasn't it good? Mr. Leslie knew that Jack was taking the duty at the church here, so we were afraid he'd say no. But a letter came a few days later to say she could come for the last fortnight, and Jack has been so excited about it he's nearly been off his head! Dear old Jack, I'm awfully glad for him."

Forester felt like a man who has just woken from a bad dream. Was it possible that he was free to let Doris know of his love for her? But, no, it could not be. Don must have made some mistake. Surely Jack had himself told him that it was Doris whom he loved.

"Don," he said, "I can't make this out at all. Jack most certainly told me, that night he walked up the hill with me, that he was engaged to Doris."

"So he is," cried Don. "So he is! Not to our Doris, but to Doris Leslie."

Forester did not answer. His heart was beating too quickly for him to be able to speak, and he felt as if his voice would not be as steady as he would like it to be.

He quickly made up his mind that a walking tour in North Wales would not be the best way of ending his holiday, and he did not call on Maxie that morning, or make any arrangement for dispatching his tent the following day.

Yet, although the relief was great which he experienced when he discovered that he was free to love Doris without any feeling of treachery to his old friend Jack, at the same time he had little hope that his love would be returned. She had known him for such a short time, and it was not everyone that loved at first sight, as he had done. It occurred to him that Doris had seen him at his worst: moody, depressed, unsociable, and altogether disagreeable and unlovable.

Was it likely that a girl like Doris would ever care for him? No, it was not likely, and he ought not to give her the pain of refusing him. He shrank from giving anyone pain. He knew he would go anywhere and do anything rather than go where he was not wanted, or do something that would bring trouble on others. He knew Doris Somerville well enough to understand that if she refused him it would cause her pain to do so. Her eyes would be full of sympathy and sorrow, and who was he to bring a shadow over her happy life?

Moreover, he knew he would have to tell Doris his past story. He would have to let her know that he had been within a fortnight of being married to another. How fickle she would think him. She would despise him for thinking of anyone else so soon. Surely she would wonder how he could ask her to accept such second-hand affection. Very few girls would care to come to a home that had been got ready for someone else, or take a love which had been thrown aside by another as utterly worthless.

He would never be able to explain the truth as it really was. He could never make Doris see that his feelings for her were utterly and entirely different from any he had ever felt before -- that he had not known what real love was until he met her. She would never believe, she would never understand. How could she? No, the longer he thought of it, the more he felt that his love for Doris was hopeless. It was not Jack now who stood in his way, it was his own utter unworthiness.

Forester wondered how he could ever have dreamed it possible that Doris might return his love. She had spoken kindly to him, but she had done that to everyone. She had been sorry for him out of the unselfishness of her heart, but she had never done or said anything which was any indication that she loved him. Of what utter folly he had been guilty when he had imagined that it was Jack who came between them. Jack had nothing whatever to do with it. Jack was engaged to someone else, and yet Doris Somerville was as far removed from him as ever.

He must not go down to the shore that day. He would go back to his tent and try to argue himself into a reasonable view of things.

However, the next morning Jack came up the hill bringing Doris Leslie with him, to introduce her to his friend. She was a bonny, bright girl, with a sweet face and a dimple in her rosy cheek, but to Norman Forester's mind she would not bear comparison with Doris Somerville. He wondered how Jack could be so blind.

After they had left him, Forester watched them wandering over the headland together, happy in each other's presence. Well, he was glad his old friend had a bright life before him.

Forester felt restless that morning. He made up his mind walk to the end of the headland and get down on the shore and watch the waves.

How lovely everything looked. Autumn, with her artist hand, was already colouring the bracken on the hillside with every gorgeous tint imaginable. The long streamers of brambles were decked in their most flaunting colors. The heather was dead and brown, but the ling was still in flower. And what was that? Actually a piece of white heather, still growing under the shelter of the furze bush. Why did he stoop to gather it? Why did he slip it into his pocket? It could never be of the slightest use to him. It would be better to have left it growing under the furze bush.

He climbed down the steep, rugged path that led to the shore, and threaded his way between masses of huge boulders that seemed to have been hurled there by some giant hand. Then he came out on a stretch of pebbly beach, broken here and there by gray slabs of rock. This was the view which Doris had drawn, looking its best as he came upon it, the colouring more vivid than ever.

And there was Doris, sitting on the rock in her old place finishing her picture.

He surely did not guess she would be there, or he would never have come that way. But as she was there, what was more natural than that he would sit down beside her to watch the finishing touches being inserted; or that, finding himself in the old place and finding her at the old occupation, they would gradually slip back again into the old familiar companionship that they had enjoyed before the shadow of Jack's supposed love came between them?

So an hour passed away in pleasant talk of many things, and then he suddenly said rather formally, "Miss Somerville, I am going to ask your advice."

"My advice?" she repeated.

"Yes, about a friend of mine. He wants to know what he ought to do in a certain matter, and I thought you would perhaps help me to answer him."

"What kind of matter?"

"Well, rather a private matter. He does not want everyone to know about it, but I am sure I may ask you. My friend..."

"Perhaps you had rather I did not know his name," she said. "I quite understand."

"Well, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. His name is Stewart, and he's in great difficulties just now."

"About money?"

"No, not about money. He has a good medical practice."

"He is a doctor, then?"

"Yes, a doctor, like -- like I am."

"I understand," she said. "This friend -- Doctor Stewart I think you said -- is in some difficulty?"

"Yes, he doesn't know how he ought to act, and I don't know how to advise him. Do you see?"

"Yes, so far. But what is his difficulty?"

"May I tell you his story, Miss Somerville, and then I think you will be better able to understand. He was born in a little village in the West of England. His father had been the doctor of the place, and he died when Stewart was only a boy. He was rarely away from home, for there was a grammar school in a town three miles off which he attended, and he used to cycle there and back every day. His mother was a good woman, but she spoiled him a bit. He was her only child and she thought no one was like him."

"Is she alive?"

"No, she died last year."

"You knew her?" said Doris, with genuine sympathy.

"Yes, I knew her. She was a good friend to me. It was not a large village, and beyond the parson's and the lawyer's there were no big houses. The parson was an old bachelor, taken up with his books and his sermons, and my friend saw little of him. The lawyer was a wealthy man who had retired from practice and lived in a large house just beyond the village. His name was Pargiter. He was a kind of squire of the place."

"Had he any family?"

"Yes, Pargiter had one daughter. Her mother was dead, but an aunt lived there and brought her up. The girl's name was Letty."

"You knew her then?"

"Yes, I knew her. I went there sometimes. Well, these two children played together from their earliest years. Sometimes they agreed, sometimes they quarrelled, and then after a time made it up again. They were fond of each other, just as any brother and sister might be. They were companions, you see, and had no one else, so they had to make the best of each other.

"When Stewart had a holiday from school he spent it with Letty, and they cycled together, and played cricket and tennis together, and alternately pleased and teased each other. That was all right, you see, as long as they were children. But time went on, and Stewart went to a medical college and was working up for his different exams. He did not go home for a long time, and when he did go, Letty Pargiter was abroad. Her father had sent her to a finishing school in Paris. He did not see her again until two years ago."

"And then?"

"Well, then they were both grown up, and they had seen more of the world, and it was rather different."

"In what way?"

"Well, Stewart wanted to take up the friendship on the old lines, just where they had left off, as it were; but it wasn't easy to do that."

"What was she like?"

"Very beautiful. Her hair was really golden. You don't often see golden hair, do you? And her eyes were a lovely blue, more violet than blue, I think."

"And your friend fell in love with her?" Doris said. She was bending over her painting now, putting in the foreground.

"No, he didn't fall in love with her. He liked her, and he admired her hair and her eyes; but she was not his ideal by any means. She was too cold and calculating, and sometimes he thought her rather selfish. Still, she was the nicest girl he knew, and he thought it was Paris that had spoiled her, and that she would be different when she had been at home for a time."

"Was she?

"He thought she was, and she seemed very fond of him. When he was at home he saw a great deal of her, but I don't think he intended their friendship to go any further, at least not then."

Forester stopped.

"Yes?" said Doris presently. "Will you tell me the rest?"

"Well, it's rather hard to tell, to make you understand just how it was. Mr. Pargiter interfered. He wanted his daughter to get married, and he thought Stewart would be a good match for her. So he asked Stewart what he meant by paying so much attention to Letty, and they ought to be engaged."

Doris had stopped painting, though she was still bending over her picture. At last she said, as if with an effort, "Do go on."

"There isn't much more. Stewart went and made a fool of himself."

"They were engaged?"

"Yes, they were engaged, and were to be married in six months. He got the home ready, bought the furniture, and the presents began to come in. Then she told him that before she was married she wanted to go to stay with some old friends of hers in Paris. He thought it was a funny time to go away, and he said so; but she told him in her willful way that she had not long now to please herself, and she would do as she liked until she was married. Her father seemed rather annoyed with her, but she got her own way as she generally did."

"Was she away long?"

"Yes, some time. Stewart kept writing to her to urge her to come home. He wanted to consult with her about things in the house and the different arrangements for the wedding, but she kept putting off her return. She told him she was getting her trousseau and her wedding dress in Paris, and could buy much prettier things there than in England. He got few letters from her, and they seemed to get shorter and shorter, and then they ceased altogether. He wrote and wrote, but no answer came for ten days or more. It was getting close to the day fixed for their wedding. In about a fortnight she would be his wife. He wrote once more, a strong letter, urging her again to come home, and asking what she meant by not answering his letters. And then..."

Forester stopped, as if he found it hard to go on.

"Yes?" said Doris gently.

"Then he got a letter telling him she was not coming home, for she was engaged to a French Count and was to be married to him the following month. She told Stewart she had never really cared for him, and she would only have made him miserable, so he ought to be grateful to her for breaking it off."

"That was dreadful!" said Doris, almost in a whisper.

"Yes, so he thought -- at the time. She sent back all his letters and presents, and said he mustn't write to her again as Count D'Enville would object to it. But of course he didn't want to write to her again, as you can imagine."

"What did her father say?"

"Oh, he was angry, of course, and declared he knew nothing at all about it. Whether he did or not I really can't say."

Doris was not even pretending to paint now. She was looking away from Forester and over the sea, but he noticed as he turned to her for a moment that she had tears in her eyes.

"Shall I go on?

She did not answer.

"Shall I go on, or had you rather not hear any more?"

"I would like to hear," she said, in a low voice.

"Well, then, I will go on. He had a terrible time. He knew then what a fool he had been, and he determined to forget the past if he could. But it wasn't easy to do that. Everything in the house reminded him of it, and he thought he would get away. So he went... Well, never mind where he went, but he got right away from it all. And then, Miss Somerville -- Doris, shall I go on?"

She did not answer this time even by a whisper, but covered her face with her hand to hide the tears.

"Then," said Forester, "he suddenly found his ideal. He suddenly discovered what love was, real love I mean. He knew now that he had never loved Letty Pargiter. He had been fond of her in a way; he had admired her, but he had never really loved her. But now he did love; he loved so much and so deeply that he knew that, if she did not care for him, he would never, all his life, love anyone else. She was the one he had dreamed of and pictured to himself as the wife he would like to have, and he marvelled that he had been such a fool as even to imagine that he cared for Letty."

Again a long pause.

"Shall I go on?"

Again she did not answer, so Forester went on without leave, this time in the present tense.

"But he has no reason to think she loves him. She is sorry for him. She gives him kind, helpful words of sympathy, but he has seen nothing in her to give him any real hope. And then he shrinks from telling her he loves her, because there is that story of the past to be explained. She will think him changeable and faithless; she will never be able to see how it really was. So he is afraid she will have to tell him that she can have nothing to do with such a man as that. And he wants to know, he wants me to ask you, what you would advise him to do. Should he go away and never cross her path again? Or should he try to tell her? What do you advise, Miss Somerville -- Doris?"

She turned round. He could see the tears now, but he saw something else in her eyes, something he had never hoped to see there.

She put her hand on his and she said, "I think he had better try to tell her. I think he has told her; hasn't he?"

#  Chapter Twenty

(Last Chapter)

### Goodbye to Hildick

IT WAS a bright September morning. The air was clear and bracing, and the sunlight was falling on the woods with a lingering fondness, as if it would cheer the trees that were preparing for autumn.

Norman Forester stood at the door of his tent and gazed at the lovely view with many feelings of regret, for it was his last day at Hildick. He had spent a fortnight of perfect enjoyment and happiness, such as he had never dreamed of before.

The picnics Don Mainwaring had planned had taken place, and had been as great a success as glorious weather and a cheerful party of friends could make them. Then there had been quiet walks with Doris over the hills and by the side of the waves. Each day he had learned to love her more deeply; each night he had thanked God with a full heart for giving him such a wonderful joy. The days had flown as on the wings of the wind, and now the golden time was over, and he must return to everyday life. Work was waiting for him, and he must go back to it with fresh vigour and energy.

The night before, he and Doris had taken their last walk on the shore, and had sat once more side by side on the rock from which she had painted her picture. That picture was finished now, and Forester was taking it back with him to London. It would always be one of the greatest treasures he possessed. He had exchanged it for the little bit of white heather, the last on the headland, which had been of use after all, and which Doris had told him she would keep for as long as she lived.

As they sat on the rock that last evening, she had asked him with a merry laugh whether he had any other friend who would be glad of her advice. She said she was ready to give it to him if he wished for it.

"But, Norman, why did you call yourself Stewart?" she asked.

"Because it is my name. It was my mother's maiden name. So you see I was correct. Doris, are you glad you gave poor Stewart the advice you did?"

Doris's answer, whatever it was and however it was given, fully satisfied him. It was wonderful to him that she loved him, but he had no doubt whatever about it, or that she was as thoroughly happy as he was.

There, where he had first told her of his love, they had sat together hand in hand and watched the stars come out over the sea. And then they had walked back to Hildick and said their real goodbye. They knew they would meet again in the morning, but Doris and her father had to start early to catch the morning train, and all would be hurry and bustle, and they would not have a moment to themselves.

Forester was up early that morning. He was to be the last to depart, for he had to take down his tent, and could not leave Llantrug until the evening train. All the rest were going before nine o'clock that morning, and he must hurry down the hill to see them off. As he passed the castle, Joyce ran out to meet him with her dogs on the leash all ready for their journey.

"Doctor Forester," she said, "we're all ready, and the coach has come. I'm so sorry to go."

He went into the castle yard and saw Val Sinclair strapping up rugs and umbrellas into neat bundles, and his brothers Dick and Billy were helping to lift the luggage into its place. It gave him a feeling of sadness to see the happy party breaking up.

Old Mr. Norris was leaning on his stick by the door, and Jemmy the lamb was standing by his side. The Sinclairs all came to speak to him and thank him again for what he had done for Dick.

Then he hurried down the hill and helped Doris and her father with their final preparations for the journey. They were sharing a carriage with the Mainwarings, and it was already at the door, the horses pawing impatiently at the ground. Jack and Doris Leslie were on the box seat, and he went to say goodbye to them. How quickly the parting was coming on.

Now the luggage was in its place, the driver was on the box, and Doris and her father had taken their seats inside. One last pressure of the hand, one last long look into her eyes, and the wheels began to move. They were off!

He ran ahead to the corner to see them pass; he climbed on the wall to wave to them. Don called to him that he would now have the shore all to himself. The carriage was turning into the long white road across the marsh. Now he could see it clearly, now it was hidden by rising ground, now it was once more in sight. He climbed the sand dune for a better view. They were waving still; she could still see him. They had reached the long winding hill leading up from the bay. He could no longer catch sight of them. Yes, there was a break in the trees. He could catch another glimpse of the carriage. Did she see him? Surely that was her hand waving. Now they were gone; he would see them no more.

But here was the lumbering of the big coach; the Sinclairs were coming down the hill. They shouted a hearty goodbye as they passed. Joyce made the dogs wave their paws as they sat beside her. He watched again, and waved again, until they too were out of sight.

Now he was alone, the last of the happy party, and a feeling of loneliness crept over him. But he had no time to think of his loneliness, for he could see Maxie and the donkey nearly at the top of the hill. He must hasten back to take down his tent and pack up his belongings. The tent was easier to pull down than to put up, and the work was soon accomplished, the packages were corded, the tent pole and pegs were stowed away and taken down the hill by Maxie in the donkey cart. He was going to the castle for dinner. It had been a long promise that he would have his last meal with the Norrises in the ancient kitchen.

What a welcome they gave him; how brightly the pewter was shining on the dresser; how spotless was the sanded floor; how savoury was the rabbit-stew prepared by Mary's clever hands. The old man was full of regrets at his departure.

"You'll come again, doctor, I hope," he said. "And don't be long about it."

Forester thanked them all for their goodness to him. He told them it was the happiest holiday he had ever spent in his life.

They all came with him to the door; even Jemmy the lamb was there to see him off. They stood watching as he went down the hill. He looked back at the old castle standing in the autumn sunlight. The ivy hanging from the walls seemed to him like green streamers waving goodbye. A white pigeon was sitting on the top of the turret; a number of swallows were flying out from the ruins, gathering for their journey southwards and saying farewell to Hildick Castle. He must do the same, for his cab would soon be at the corner waiting for him.

He looked once more, and then he turned his back on the old ruin and ran down the hill. Here he found he had half an hour to spare, for the horses required a longer rest after their fourteen miles run from Llantrug. The driver assured him they would be in plenty of time for the train.

He went down to the shore to pass the time. How desolate it all looked now. There on the shingle were the blackened stones left by the bonfire. What a wonderful supper that had been. There was an old hockey stick left behind on the sand, a memento of many an exciting game. There was the breakwater where, only yesterday afternoon, they had sat to watch the high tide rushing in over the rocks.

The shore was deserted now; the happy party gone. The waves were bringing in the sea urchins, but no one was there to pick them up. The bathing place was empty, the rocks below the church were forsaken. Only the seagulls were there, and they were strutting about on the damp sand, rejoicing in having the shore to themselves.

Forester sat down to watch them, and he found himself on the rock on which he had sat that first day at Hildick. It all came back to him now. He could recall exactly how he felt then, utterly discontented and miserable, sick of everything and of everybody. He could see Mr. Somerville's face as he sat there reading the newspaper; he could see old Treverton in his boat on the bay; he could see himself taking up his half of the newspaper, turning it over carelessly, not expecting to find anything of interest in it. He could see the names which caught his eye --

D'ENVILLE -- PARGITER.

He remembered the pain it had given him as he read the announcement of her wedding. He had known it was to take place, he was prepared for that; but seeing it in black and white in that copy of the paper had come on him as a shock, although he hardly knew why. He had been glad to leave the shore that day and climb the hill to get away from everybody.

Now he could look back on that trouble, not only calmly and without a single pang, but gladly and with the deepest thankfulness. What would his life have been with Letty Pargiter? From what misery had he been saved? And in the place of that worthless affection, what had God given him?

He looked up at the blue sky and gave thanks that he had ever come to Hildick. He marvelled when he thought of all he had found here. He had found that which the wisest of men calls "a good thing," namely, a true and loving wife. But he had found more, infinitely more; he had found Jesus, his Guide and Savoir.

Before, he was like a ship without a rudder, blown hither and thither by every wind, carried along first in one direction and then in another on every varying current. Tossed about and almost shipwrecked on the waves of this troublesome world. Now, the Pilot had come on board; Jesus his Guide was there.

He had no fear now of the winds or waves, of hidden rocks or adverse currents. His Pilot knew them all, and would steer him safely through. The hymn they sang last Sunday in church was ringing in his ears. He could still hear Doris's confident voice close beside him as she sang it:

Jesus, Savoir, pilot me

Over life's tempestuous sea;

Unknown waves before me roll,

Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;

Chart and compass come from Thee:

Jesus, Savoir, pilot me.

He felt sure that prayer would be answered, and as he left the shore and turned his back on the bay, and repeated the words of the verse that Doris had finished for him:

"And with my God to guide my way,

'Tis equal joy to go or stay."

THE END

More Christian books from White Tree Publishing are on the next pages, some of which are available as both eBooks and paperbacks. More Christian books than those shown here are available in non-fiction and fiction, for adults and younger readers. The full list of published and forthcoming books is on our website www.whitetreepublishing.com. Please visit there regularly for updates.

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Christian non-fiction

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## Christian Non-fiction

Four short books of help in the Christian life:

So, What Is a Christian? An introduction to a personal faith. Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-2-6

Starting Out \-- help for new Christians of all ages. Paperback ISBN 978-1-4839-622-0-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-0-2

Help! \-- Explores some problems we can encounter with our faith. Paperback ISBN 978-0-9927642-2-7, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-1-9

Running Through the Bible \-- a simple understanding of what's in the Bible \-- Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-6-5, eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-3-3

### Be Still

Bible Words of Peace and Comfort

There may come a time in our lives when we want to concentrate on God's many promises of peace and comfort. The Bible readings in this book are for people who need to know what it means to be held securely in the Lord's loving arms.

Rather than selecting single verses here and there, each reading in this book is a run of several verses. This gives a much better picture of the whole passage in which a favourite verse may be found.

As well as being for personal use, these readings are intended for sharing with anyone in special need, to help them draw comfort from the reading and prayer for that date. Bible reading and prayer are the two most important ways of getting to know and trust Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.

The reference to the verses for the day are given, for you to look up and read in your preferred Bible translation.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9933941-4-0

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

116 pages 5x7.8 inches

A Previously Unpublished Book

### The Simplicity of the Incarnation

J Stafford Wright

Foreword by J I Packer

"I believe in ... Jesus Christ ... born of the Virgin Mary." A beautiful stained glass image, or a medical reality? This is the choice facing Christians today. Can we truly believe that two thousand years ago a young woman, a virgin named Mary, gave birth to the Son of God? The answer is simple: we can.

The author says, "In these days many Christians want some sensible assurance that their faith makes sense, and in this book I want to show that it does."

In this uplifting book from a previously unpublished and recently discovered manuscript, J Stafford Wright investigates the reality of the incarnation, looks at the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus, and helps the reader understand more of the Trinity and the certainty of eternal life in heaven.

This book was written shortly before the author's death in 1985. The Simplicity of the Incarnation is published for the first time, unedited, from his final draft.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-5-7

Paperback ISBN: 9-780-9525-9563-2

160 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Bible People Real People

An Unforgettable A-Z of Who is Who in the Bible

In a fascinating look at real people, J Stafford Wright shows his love and scholarly knowledge of the Bible as he brings the characters from its pages to life in a memorable way.

Read this book through from A to Z, like any other title

Dip in and discover who was who in personal Bible study

Check the names when preparing a talk or sermon

The good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly – no one is spared. This is a book for everyone who wants to get to grips with the reality that is in the pages of the Bible, the Word of God.

With the names arranged in alphabetical order, the Old and New Testament characters are clearly identified so that the reader is able to explore either the Old or New Testament people on the first reading, and the other Testament on the second.

Those wanting to become more familiar with the Bible will find this is a great introduction to the people inhabiting the best selling book in the world, and those who can quote chapter and verse will find everyone suddenly becomes much more real – because these people are real. This is a book to keep handy and refer to frequently while reading the Bible.

"For students of my generation the name Stafford Wright was associated with the spiritual giants of his generation. Scholarship and integrity were the hallmarks of his biblical teaching. He taught us the faith and inspired our discipleship of Christ. To God be the Glory." The Rt. Rev. James Jones, Bishop of Liverpool

This is a lively, well-informed study of some great Bible characters. Professor Gordon Wenham MA PhD. Tutor in Old Testament at Trinity College Bristol and Emeritus Professor of Old Testament at the University of Gloucestershire.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-7-1

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-5-6

314 pages 6x9 inches

Note: This book is not available in all eBook formats

### Christians and the Supernatural

J Stafford Wright

There is an increasing interest and fascination in the paranormal today. To counteract this, it is important for Christians to have a good understanding of how God sometimes acts in mysterious ways, and be able to recognize how he can use our untapped gifts and abilities in his service. We also need to understand how the enemy can tempt us to misuse these gifts and abilities, just as Jesus was tempted in the wilderness.

In this single volume of his two previously published books on the occult and the supernatural (Understanding the Supernatural and Our Mysterious God) J Stafford Wright examines some of the mysterious events we find in the Bible and in our own lives. Far from dismissing the recorded biblical miracles as folk tales, he is convinced that they happened in the way described, and explains why we can accept them as credible.

The writer says: When God the Holy Spirit dwells within the human spirit, he uses the mental and physical abilities which make up a total human being . . . The whole purpose of this book is to show that the Bible does make sense.

And this warning: The Bible, claiming to speak as the revelation of God, and knowing man's weakness for substitute religious experiences, bans those avenues into the occult that at the very least are blind alleys that obscure the way to God, and at worst are roads to destruction.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-4-0

Paperback ISBN 13: 9-780-9525-9564-9

222 pages 5.25 x 8 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Howell Harris

### His Own Story

Foreword by J. Stafford Wright

Howell Harris was brought up to regard the Nonconformists as "a perverted and dangerously erroneous set of people." Hardly a promising start for a man who was to play a major role in the Welsh Revival. Yet in these extracts from his writings and diaries we can read the thoughts of Howell Harris before, during and after his own conversion.

We can see God breaking through the barriers separating "church and chapel", and discover Christians of different denominations preparing the country for revival. Wesley, Whitefield, Harris. These great 18th century preachers worked both independently and together to preach the Living Gospel. This book is a vivid first-hand account of the joys, hardships and struggles of one of these men -- Howell Harris (1714-1773).

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-9-5

From the Streets of London

to the Streets of Gold

The Life Story of

Brother Clifford Edwards

A True Story of Love

by

Brother Clifford Edwards

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

A printed copy is available directly from Brother Clifford -- thejesusbus@hotmail.co.uk

This is the personal story of Clifford Edwards, affectionately known as Brother Clifford by his many friends. Going from fame to poverty, he was sleeping on the streets of London with the homeless for twenty years, until Jesus rescued him and gave him an amazing mission in life. Brother Clifford tells his true story here in the third person, giving the glory to Jesus.

### Seven Steps to

### Walking in Victory

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-3-5

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

How is your Christian life going? Finding it hard and not sure why? Wherever you might be, Seven Steps to Walking in Victory is a very short book to help you see where you are in the Christian life, and help you keep on the right path to the victory that comes through walking closely with Jesus -- to live the Christian life you always wanted to live!

### Seven Keys to

### Unlock Your Calling

Lin Wills

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-2-3

Also available as a booklet

www.lenandlin.com

God has a special plan for each and every one of us -- that includes YOU! He has given all of us unique gifts. Not sure what that might mean for you? Seven Keys to Unlock Your Calling is a very short book that will help you discover how to explore those gifts and encourage you to go deeper into all that God has for you.

English Hexapla

The Gospel of John

(Paperback only)

Published to coincide with the 400th anniversary of the Authorized King James Version of the Bible, this book contains the full text of Bagster's assembled work for the Gospel of John. On each page in parallel columns are the words of the six most important translations of the New Testament into English, made between 1380 and 1611. Below the English is the original Greek text after Scholz.

To enhance the reading experience, there is an introduction telling how we got our English Bibles, with significant pages from early Bibles shown at the end of the book.

Here is an opportunity to read English that once split the Church by giving ordinary people the power to discover God's word for themselves. Now you can step back in time and discover those words and spellings for yourself, as they first appeared hundreds of years ago.

Wyclif 1380, Tyndale 1534, Cranmer 1539, Geneva 1557,

Douay Rheims 1582, Authorized (KJV) 1611.

English Hexapla -- The Gospel of John

Published by White Tree Publishing

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-1-8

Size 7.5 x 9.7 inches paperback

Not available as an eBook

### Roddy Goes to Church

Church Life and Church People

Derek Osborne

No, not a children's book! An affectionate, optimistic look at church life involving, as it happens, Roddy and his friends who live in a small town. Problems and opportunities related to change and outreach are not, of course, unique to their church!

Maybe you know Miss Prickly-Cat who pointedly sits in the same pew occupied by generations of her forebears, and perhaps know many of the characters in this look at church life today. A wordy Archdeacon comes on the scene, and Roddy is taken aback by the events following his first visit to church. Roddy's best friend Bushy-Beard says wise things, and he hears an enlightened Bishop . . .

Bishop David Pytches writes: A unique spoof on church life. Will you recognise yourself and your church here? ... Derek Osborne's mind here is insightful, his characters graphic and typical and the style acutely comical, but there is a serious message in his madness. Buy this, read it and enjoy!

David Pytches, Chorleywood

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-0-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-09927642-0-3

46 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches paperback UK £3.95

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### Heaven Our Home

William Branks

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

"I go to prepare a place for you." This well-known promise from Jesus must cause us to think about the reality of heaven. Heaven is to be our home for ever. Where is heaven? What is it like? Will I recognize people there? All who are Christians must surely want to hear about the place where they are to spend eternity. In this abridged edition of William Branks classic work of 1861, we discover what the Bible has to say about heaven. There may be a few surprises, and there are certainly some challenges as we explore a subject on which there seems to be little teaching and awareness today.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9933941-8-8

### I See Men as Trees, Walking

Roger and Janet Niblett

Roger and Janet Niblett were just an ordinary English couple, but then they met the Lord and their lives were totally transformed. Like the Bethlehem shepherds of old, they had a compulsion to share the same good news that Jesus Christ had come into the world to save sinners. Empowered by the Holy Spirit they proclaimed the gospel in the market place, streets, prisons, hospitals and churches with a vibrancy that only comes from being in direct touch with the Almighty and being readily available to serve Him as a channel of His grace and love. God was with them and blessed their ministry abundantly. Praise God! (Pastor Mervyn Douglas, Clevedon Family Church)

The story of Roger Niblett is an inspiration to all who serve the Lord. He was a prolific street evangelist, whose impact on the gospel scene was a wonder to behold. It was my privilege to witness his conversion, when he went forward to receive Christ at the Elim Church, Keynsham. The preacher was fiery Scottish evangelist Rev'd Alex Tee. It was not long before Roger too caught that same soul winner's fire which propelled him far and wide, winning multitudes for Christ. Together with his wife Janet, they proceeded to "Tell the World of Jesus". (Des Morton, Founder Minister of Keynsham Elim Church)

I know of no couple who have been more committed to sharing their faith from the earliest days of their journey with the Lord Jesus Christ. Along the way, at home and abroad, and with a tender heart for the marginalised, Rog and Jan have introduced multitudes to the Saviour and have inspired successive generations of believers to do the same. It was our joy and privilege to have them as part of the family at Trinity where Janet continues to serve in worship and witness. Loved by young and old alike, they will always have a special place in our hearts. (Andy Paget, Trinity Tabernacle, Bristol. Vice President, International Gospel Outreach)

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-1-0

Also available as a paperback

(published by Gozo Publishing Bristol)

paperback ISBN: 978-1508674979

### Leaves from

### My Notebook

New Abridged Edition

William Haslam

(1818-1905)

You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon! Well, this is man -- William Haslam. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851. He later wrote his autobiography in two books: From Death into Life and Yet not I. Here, in Leaves from my NoteBook, William Haslam writes about events and people not present in his autobiography. They make fascinating and challenging reading as we watch him sharing his faith one to one or in small groups, with dramatic results. Haslam was a man who mixed easily with titled gentry and the poorest of the poor, bringing the message of salvation in a way that people were ready to accept. This book has been lightly edited and abridged to make reading easier today by using modern punctuation and avoiding over-long sentences. William Haslam's amazing message is unchanged.

Original book first published 1889

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-2-7

### Blunt's Scriptural Coincidences

Gospels and Acts

J. J. Blunt

New Edition

This book will confirm (or restore) your faith in the Gospel records. Clearly the Gospels were not invented. There is too much unintentional agreement between them for this to be so. Undesigned coincidences are where writers tell the same account, but from a different viewpoint. Without conspiring together to get their accounts in agreement, they include unexpected (and often unnoticed) details that corroborate their records. Not only are these unexpected coincidences found within the Gospels, but sometimes a historical writer unknowingly and unintentionally confirms the Bible record.

Within these pages you will see just how accurate were the memories of the Gospel writers -- even of the smallest details which on casual reading can seem of little importance, yet clearly point to eyewitness accounts. J.J. Blunt spent many years investigating these coincidences. And here they are, as found in the four Gospels and Acts.

First published in instalments between 1833 and 1847

The edition used here published in 1876

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-5-8

### Fullness of Power

### in Christian Life and Service

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

R. A. Torrey

Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each chapter are questions for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because: "From many earnest hearts there is rising a cry for more power: more power in our personal conflict with the world, the flesh, and the devil; more power in our work for others. The Bible makes the way to obtain this longed-for power very plain. There is no presumption in undertaking to tell how to obtain Fullness of Power in Christian life and service; for the Bible itself tells, and the Bible was intended to be understood. R. A. Torrey (1856-1928) was an American evangelist, pastor, educator, and writer whose name is attached to several organisations, and whose work is still well known today.

"The Bible statement of the way is not mystical or mysterious. It is very plain and straightforward. If we will only make personal trial of The Power of the Word of God; The Power of the Blood of Christ; The Power of the Holy Spirit; The Power of Prayer; The Power of a Surrendered Life; we will then know the Fullness of Power in Christian life and service. We will try to make this plain in the following chapters. There are many who do not even know that there is a life of abiding rest, joy, satisfaction, and power; and many others who, while they think there must be something beyond the life they know, are in ignorance as to how to obtain it. This book is also written to help them." (Torrey's Introduction.)

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-8-9

Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends

Musings on Life, Scripture

and the Hymns

by

Marty Magee

Samuel, Mephibosheth, and a woman on death row -- people telling of our Savior's love. A chicken, a dinosaur, and a tarantula -- just a few props to show how we can serve God and our neighbors. Peanut butter, pinto beans and grandmother's chow-chow -- merely tools to help share the Bread of Life. These are just a few of the characters in Ebenezer and Ninety-Eight Friends.

It is Marty's desire to bring the hymns out of their sometimes formal, Sunday best stuffy setting and into our Monday through Friday lives. At the same time, she presents a light object lesson and appropriate Scripture passage. This is done with the format of a devotion book, yet it has a light tone and style. From Ebenezer to Willie, Marty's characters can scarcely be contained within the pages of this whimsical yet insightful volume.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-1-1

Also in paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

ALSO BY MARTY MAGEE

### Twenty-five Days Around the Manger

# A Light Family Advent Devotional

Marty Magee

Will a purple bedroom help Marty's misgivings about Christmas?

As a kid, Martha Evans didn't like Christmas. Sixty years later, she still gets a little uneasy when this holiday on steroids rolls around. But she knows, when all the tinsel is pulled away, Whose Day it is. Now Marty Magee, she is blessed with five grandchildren who help her not take herself too seriously.

Do you know the angel named Herald? Will young Marty survive the embarrassment of her Charley Brown Christmas tree? And by the way, where's the line to see Jesus?

Twenty-Five Days Around the Manger goes from Marty's mother as a little girl awaiting her brother's arrival, to O Holy Night when our souls finally were able to feel their full worth.

This and much more. Join Marty around the manger this Advent season.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-1-0

Also in full colour paperback

from Rickety Bridge Publishing

ISBN: 978-1-4923248-0-5

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

The Gospels and Acts

In Simple Paraphrase

with Helpful Explanations

together with

Running Through the Bible

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing presents a paraphrase in today's English of passages from the four Gospels -- Matthew, Mark, Luke and John -- relating Jesus' birth, life, death and resurrection in one continuous narrative with helpful explanations, plus a paraphrase of events from the book of Acts. Also in this book is a brief summary of the Epistles and Revelation. For readers unfamiliar with the New Testament, this book makes a valuable introduction, and it will surely help those familiar with the New Testament to gain some extra knowledge and understanding as they read it. Please note that this is not a translation of the Bible. It is a careful and sensitive paraphrase of parts of the New Testament, and is not intended to be quoted as Scripture. Part 2 is a short introduction to the whole Bible -- Running Through the Bible \-- which is available from White Tree Publishing as a separate eBook and paperback.

Translators and others involved in foreign mission work, please note: If you believe that this copyright book, or part of this book, would be useful if translated into another language, please contact White Tree Publishing (wtpbristol@gmail.com). Permission will be free, and assistance in formatting and publishing your new translation as an eBook and/or a paperback may be available, also without charge.

Superb! I have never read anything like it. It is colloquially worded in a succinct, clear style with a brilliant (and very helpful) running commentary interspersed. I have found it a compelling read -- and indeed spiritually engaging and moving. Canon Derek Osborne, Norfolk, England.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9935005-9-6

### Faith that Prevails

The Early Pentecostal Movement

Home and Group Questions for Today Edition

Smith Wigglesworth

Study Questions by Chuck Antone, Jr.

This is a White Tree Publishing Home and Group Questions for Today Edition. At the end of each of the seven chapters are questions by Chuck Antone, Jr. for use either in your personal study, or for sharing in a church or home group. Why? Because _Smith Wigglesworth, often referred to as the Apostle of Faith, putting the emphasis on the work of the Holy Spirit, writes, "_ God is making people hungry and thirsty after His best. And everywhere He is filling the hungry and giving them that which the disciples received at the very beginning. Are you hungry? If you are, God promises that you shall be filled."

_Smith Wigglesworth was one of the pioneers of the early Pentecostal revival. Born in 1859 he gave himself to Jesus at the age of eight and immediately led his mother to the Lord._ His ministry took him to Europe, the US, Australia, New Zealand, South Africa, the Pacific Islands, India and what was then Ceylon. _Smith Wigglesworth's faith was unquestioning._

_In this book, he says, "_ There is nothing impossible with God. All the impossibility is with us, when we measure God by the limitations of our unbelief."

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-4-1

### The Authority and

### Interpretation

### of the Bible

J Stafford Wright

When we start to think about God, we soon come to a point where we say, "I can discover nothing more about God by myself. I must see whether He has revealed anything about Himself, about His character, and about the way to find Him and to please Him." From the beginning, the Christian church has believed that certain writings were the Word of God in a unique sense. Before the New Testament was compiled, Christians accepted the Old Testament as their sacred Book. Here they were following the example of Christ Himself. During His ministry Jesus Christ made great use of the Old Testament, and after His resurrection He spent some time in teaching His disciples that every section of the Old Testament had teachings in it concerning Himself. Any discussion of the inspiration of the Bible gives place sooner or later to a discussion of its interpretation. To say that the Bible is true, or infallible, is not sufficient: for it is one thing to have an infallible Book, and quite another to use it. J Stafford Wright was a greatly respected evangelical theologian and author, and former Principal of Tyndale Hall Theological College, Bristol.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-9-6

### Psalms,

### A Guide Psalm By Psalm

J Stafford Wright

The Bible Psalms. Do you see them as a source of comfort? A help in daily living? A challenge? Or perhaps something to study in depth? Psalms, a Guide Psalm by Psalm will meet all these requirements, and more. It is an individual study guide that can be used for daily reading in conjunction with your own Bible. It is also a resource for group study, with brief questions for study and discussion. And it's a Bible commentary, dealing with the text of each Psalm section by section.

eBook only

eBook ISBN 978-0-9957594-2-8

### The Christian's Secret

### of a Happy Life

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Christian and happy? Do these two words fit comfortably together? Is our Christian life a burden or a pleasure? Is our quiet time with the Lord a duty or a delight? The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life was first written by Hannah Whitall Smith as monthly instalments for an American magazine. Hannah was brought up as a Quaker, and became the feisty wife of a preacher. By the time she wrote The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life she had already lost three children. Her life was not easy, with her husband being involved in a sexual scandal and eventually losing his faith. So, Christian and happy? An alternative title for this book could have been The Christian's Secret of a Trusting Life.

How often, Hannah asks, do we bring our burdens to the Lord, as He told us to, only to take them home with us again? There are some wonderful and challenging chapters in this book, which Hannah revised throughout her life, as she came to see that the truth is in the Bible, not in our feelings. Fact, faith and feelings come in that order. As Hannah points out several times, feelings come last. The teaching in this book is firmly Scripture based, as Hannah insists that there is more to the Christian life than simply passing through the gate of salvation. There is a journey ahead for us, where every step we take should be consecrated to bring us closer and closer to God, day by day, and year by year.

eBook only

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-6-6

### Every-Day Religion

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

How are we to live out our Christian lives every day? This book isn't about everyday (ordinary) religion, but about a living faith that changes our lives day by day. Hannah Whitall Smith had to live her life based on her trust in Scripture and the promises of God. In 1875, after the loss of three children, and her husband suffering a mental breakdown after being accused of infidelity, she was able to write The Christian's Secret of a Happy Life, in which she showed that it is possible to find peace with the Lord, no matter what life throws at us, through trusting in His promises.

In 1894, after the death of yet another child, with her three surviving children professing atheism, and her husband losing his faith, Hannah's trust in the Lord Jesus is still so strong that she is able to write in her introduction to her Scripture-based Every-Day Religion, that the purpose of the book is, "To bring out, as far as possible, the common-sense teaching of the Bible in regard to every-day religion. ... How to have inward peace in the midst of outward turmoil."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-0-9

### Haslam's Journey

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

Previously published 2005 by Highland Books

If you only intend to read just one Christian book, this should be the one! You may have heard of the clergyman who was converted while preaching his own sermon. Well, William Haslam is that man. It happened in Cornwall one Sunday in 1851, and revival immediately broke out. Later, another of William Haslam's "famous" sermons will cause a mass walkout of assembled clergy in St Paul's Cathedral! Once he starts to preach the Gospel with zeal, you can rejoice over powerful conversions in nearly every chapter.

Haslam's Journey consists of selected passages from William Haslam's two autobiographies: From Death Into Life (published 1880, his Cornish ministry) and Yet Not I (published 1882, set mostly in Bath, Norfolk and London), abridged and lightly modernised. Just under half of the originals is included. With copious notes and appendices by Chris Wright, editor of Haslam's Leaves also from White Tree Publishing. William Haslam writes with humour and great insight.

William Haslam writes about his early life: "I did not see then, as I have since, that turning over a new leaf to cover the past is not by any means the same thing as turning back the old leaves and getting them washed in the blood of the Lamb. I thought my acceptance with God depended upon my works. This made me very diligent in prayer, fasting and alms deeds. I often sat and dreamed about the works of mercy and devotion I would do."

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-8-5

eBook Coming November 2017

### My Life and Work

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

Now followed a difficult time, because he knew that in order to preach to others, he had to be able to read the Bible, both for himself and aloud to others. He writes, "I began to practise preaching. One Sunday I entered a turnip field and preached most eloquently to the turnips. I had a very large and most attentive congregation. Not one of them made an attempt to move away." When he started preaching to people, and came across a long word in the Bible he was unable to read, he says he stopped at the long word and spoke on what had gone before, and started reading again at the word after the long one!

Gipsy Smith quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he soon became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He joined the Salvation Army for a time, until being told to resign. Instead of this being a setback, he now took up a much wider sphere of work in England, before travelling to America and Australia where he became a much-loved preacher. In spite of meeting two American presidents at the White House, and other important figures in society, Gipsy Smith never forgot his roots. He never pretended to be anything other than a Gipsy boy, and was always pleased to come across other Gipsy families in his travels. Like Billy Bray and others uneducated writers, Gipsy Smith tells the story of his life in a simple and compelling way. This is the account written by a man who gave himself fully to the Lord, and was used to help lead thousands to Jesus Christ as their Saviour.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

eBook Coming January 2018

### Living in the Sunshine:

The God of All Comfort

Hannah Whitall Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

Hannah Smith, who suffered so much in her personal life, has an amazing Bible-based grasp of God's love for each of us. She writes in this book: "Why, I ask myself, should the children of God lead such utterly uncomfortable Christian lives when He has led us to believe that His yoke would be easy and His burden light? Why are we tormented with so many spiritual doubts, and such heavy spiritual anxieties? Why do we find it so hard to be sure that God really loves us?

"But here, perhaps, you will meet me with the words, 'Oh, no, I do not blame the Lord, but I am so weak and so foolish, and so ignorant that I am not worthy of His care.' But do you not know that sheep are always weak, and helpless, and silly; and that the very reason they are compelled to have a shepherd to care for them is just because they are so unable to take care of themselves? Their welfare and their safety, therefore, do not in the least depend upon their own strength, nor upon their own wisdom, nor upon anything in themselves, but wholly and entirely upon the care of their shepherd. And if you are a sheep, your welfare also must depend altogether upon your Shepherd, and not at all upon yourself!"

Note: This is Hannah Smith's final book. It was first published as Living in the Sunshine, and later republished as The God of All Comfort, the title of the third chapter. The edition used here is the British edition of Living in the Sunshine, dated 1906.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-3-0

eBook Coming early 2018

### Evangelistic Talks

Gipsy Smith

White Tree Publishing Edition

This book is a selection of 19 talks given by Gipsy Smith which will provide inspirational reading, and also be a source of help for those who speak. There are also 20 "two-minute sermonnettes" as the last chapter! Rodney "Gipsy" Smith was born in a gipsy tent in Epping Forest, England. He was the son of gipsies, Cornelius Smith and his wife Mary. Growing up, he had to help support the family by making and selling items like clothes pegs around the area. He only had a few weeks at school one winter, and was unable to read or write. One day his father Cornelius came home to say that he had been converted, and was now a Christian. Cornelius helped bring his son to the Lord, and from that moment, Rodney wanted to share the way of salvation with others.

He quickly learnt to read fluently and was soon into fulltime evangelism, where he became known as Gipsy Smith, a name he accepted gladly. He preached throughout England, before travelling to America and Australia. Wherever he went he was a much-loved and powerful preacher, bringing thousands to the Lord.

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-7-8

eBook Coming early 2018

### I Can't Help Praising the Lord

The Life of Billy Bray

FW Bourne and

Chris Wright

White Tree Publishing Edition

This challenging and often amusing book on the life of Billy Bray (1794-1868) has a very strong message for Christians today. Billy, a Cornish tin miner, believed and accepted the promises in the Bible, and lived a life that was Spirit filled.

FW Bourne, the writer of the original book, The King's Son, knew Billy Bray as a friend. In it he has used Billy's own writing, the accounts of others who had met Billy, and his own memories.

Chris Wright has revised and edited FW Bourne's book to produce this new edition, adding sections directly from Billy Bray's own Journal, keeping Billy's rough and ready grammar and wording, which surely helps us picture the man.

eBook

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-4-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 80 pages

Available from major internet stores

Also on sale in Billy Bray's Chapel

Kerley Downs, Cornwall

Christian Fiction

### The Lost Clue

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

With modern line drawings

Living the life of a wealthy man, Kenneth Fortescue receives devastating news from his father. But he is only able to learn incomplete facts about his past, because a name has been obliterated from a very important letter. Two women are vying for Kenneth's attention -- Lady Violet, the young daughter of Lady Earlswood, and Marjorie Douglas, the daughter of a widowed parson's wife.

Written in 1905 by the much-loved author Mrs. O. F. Walton, this edition has been lightly abridged and edited to make it easier to read and understand today. This romantic mystery story gives an intriguing glimpse into the class extremes that existed in Edwardian England, with wealthy titled families on one side, and some families living in terrible poverty on the other.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-2-6

### Doctor Forester

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Romantic Mystery

with modern line drawings

Doctor Forester, a medical man only twenty-five years old, has come to a lonely part of Wales to escape from an event in his recent past that has caused him much hurt. So he has more on his mind than worrying about strange noises behind his bedroom wall in the old castle where he is staying.

A young woman who shares part of the journey with him is staying in the same village. He is deeply attracted to her, and believes that she is equally attracted to him. But he soon has every reason to think that his old school friend Jack is also courting her.

Written and taking place in the early 1900s, this romantic mystery is a mix of excitement and heartbreak. What is the secret of Hildick Castle? And can Doctor Forester rid himself of the past that now haunts his life?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

* * *

Ghosts of the past kept flitting through his brain. Dark shadows which he tried to chase away seemed to pursue him. Here these ghosts were to be laid; here those shadows were to be dispelled; here that closed chapter was to be buried for ever. So he fought long and hard with the phantoms of the past until the assertive clock near his bedroom door announced that it was two o'clock.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-0-2

### Was I Right?

Mrs. O. F. Walton

Abridged Edition

A Victorian Romance

With modern line drawings

May Lindsay and her young stepsister Maggie are left penniless and homeless when their father the local doctor dies. Maggie can go to live with her three maiden aunts, but May at the age of nineteen is faced with a choice. Should she take the position of companion to a girl she doesn't know, who lives some distance away, or accept a proposal of marriage from the man who has been her friend since they were small children?

May Lindsay makes her decision, but it is not long before she wonders if she has done the right thing. This is a story of life in Victorian England as May, who has led a sheltered life, is pushed out into a much bigger world than she has previously known. She soon encounters titled families, and is taken on a tour of the Holy Land which occupies much of the story.

Two men seem to be a big disappointment to May Lindsay. Will her Christian faith hold strong in these troubles? Was she right in the decision she made before leaving home?

Mrs. O. F. Walton was a prolific writer in the late 1800s, and this abridged edition captures all of the original writer's insight into what makes a memorable story. With occasional modern line drawings.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-1-9

### In His Steps

Charles M. Sheldon

Abridged Edition

This new abridged edition of a classic story that has sold over an estimated 30 million copies, contains Charles Sheldon's original writing, with some passages sensitively abridged to allow his powerful story to come through for today's readers. Nothing in the storyline has been changed.

A homeless man staggers into a wealthy church and upsets the congregation. A week later he is dead. This causes the Rev. Henry Maxwell to issue a startling challenge to his congregation and to himself -- whatever you do in life over the next twelve months, ask yourself this question before making any decision: "What would Jesus do?"

The local newspaper editor, a novelist, a wealthy young woman who has inherited a million dollars, her friend who has been offered a professional singing career, the superintendent of the railroad workshops, a leading city merchant and others take up the challenge. But how will it all work out when things don't go as expected?

A bishop gives up his comfortable lifestyle \-- and finds his life threatened in the city slums. The story is timeless. A great read, and a challenge to every Christian today.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-9-6

Also available in paperback 254 pages 5.5 x 8.5 inches

Paperback ISBN 13: 978-19350791-8-7

A Previously Unpublished Book

### Locked Door Shuttered Windows

A Novel by J Stafford Wright

What is inside the fascinating house with the locked door and the shuttered windows? Satan wants an experiment. God allows it. John is caught up in the plan as Satan's human representative. The experiment? To demonstrate that there can be peace in the world if God allows Satan to run things in his own way. A group of people gather together in an idyllic village run by Satan, with no reference to God, and no belief in him.

J Stafford Wright has written this startling and gripping account of what happens when God stands back and Satan steps forward. All seems to go well for the people who volunteer to take part. And no Christians allowed!

John Longstone lost his faith when teaching at a theological college. Lost it for good -- or so he thinks. And then he meets Kathleen who never had a faith. As the holes start to appear in Satan's scheme for peace, they wonder if they should help or hinder the plans which seem to have so many benefits for humanity.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9932760-3-3

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9927642-4-1

206 pages 5.25 x 8.0 inches

Available from bookstores and major internet sellers

### When it Was Dark

Guy Thorne

Abridged Edition

What would happen to the Christian faith if it could be proved beyond all doubt that Jesus did not rise from the dead? This is the situation when, at the end of the nineteenth century, eminent archaeologists working outside Jerusalem discover a tomb belonging to Joseph of Arimathea, with an inscription claiming that he took the body of Jesus from the first tomb and hid it. And there are even remains of a body. So no resurrection!

As churches quickly empty, some Christians cling to hope, saying that Jesus lives within them, so He must be the Son of God who rose from the dead. Others are relieved that they no longer have to believe and go to church. Society starts to break down.

With the backing of a wealthy industrialist, a young curate puts together a small team to investigate the involvement of a powerful atheist in the discovery. This is an abridged edition of a novel first published in 1903.

Guy Thorne was the English author of many thrillers in the early twentieth century, and this book was not intended specifically for the Christian market. It contains adult references in places, but no swearing or offensive language. Although it was written from a high church Anglican viewpoint, the author is positive about the various branches of the Christian faith, finding strengths and weaknesses in individual church and chapel members as their beliefs are threatened by the discovery in Jerusalem. White Tree Publishing believes this book will be a great and positive challenge to Christians today as we examine the reality of our faith.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

Published jointly with North View Publishing

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-0-3

### Silverbeach Manor

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

Pansy is an orphan who is cared for by her aunt, Temperance Piper, who keeps the village post office and store. One day Pansy meets wealthy Mrs. Adair who offers to take her under her wing and give her a life of wealth in high society that she could never dream of, on condition Pansy never revisits her past life. When they first meet, Mrs. Adair says about Pansy's clothes, "The style is a little out of date, but it is good enough for the country. I should like to see you in a really well-made dress. It would be quite a new sensation for you, if you really belong to these wilds. I have a crimson and gold tea gown that would suit you delightfully, and make you quite a treasure for an artist." This is a story of rags to riches to ... well, to a life where nothing is straightforward. First published in 1891.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-4-1

### Gildas Haven

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

For several years in the peaceful English village of Meadthorpe, the church and chapel have existed in an uneasy peace while the rector and the chapel minister are distracted by poor health. Now a young curate arrives at St Simeon's, bringing high church ritual and ways of worship. Gildas Haven, the daughter of the chapel minister is furious to discover the curate is enticing her Sunday school children away. The curate insists that his Church ways are right, and Gildas who has only known chapel worship says the opposite.

Battle lines are quickly drawn by leaders and congregations. Mary Haycraft writes with light humour and surprising insight in what could be a controversial story line. With at least one major surprise, the author seems to be digging an impossible hole for herself as the story progresses. The ending of this sensitively told romance is likely to come as a surprise.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-7-2

### Amaranth's Garden

Margaret S. Haycraft

Abridged edition

"It seems, Miss, your father drew out that money yesterday, and took it all out in gold. The Rector happened to be in the Bank at the time, but was on his way to town, and could not stop to talk to your father just then, though he wondered to hear him say he had come to draw out everything, as treasurer of the fund." Amaranth Glyn's comfortable life comes to an end when the church funds disappear. Her father, the church treasurer who drew out the money, is also missing, to be followed shortly by her mother. The disgrace this brings on the family means Amaranth's marriage plans are cancelled. Amaranth is a competent artist and moves away with her young brother to try to earn a living. There are rumours that her parents are in France and even in Peru. Caring for her sick brother, Amaranth wants life to be as it was before the financial scandal forced her to leave her family home and the garden she loved.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9935005-6-5

### Rose Capel's Sacrifice

Margaret Haycraft

White Tree Publishing Edition

Rose and Maurice Capel find themselves living in poverty through no fault of their own, and their daughter Gwen is dangerously ill and in need of a doctor and medicine, which they cannot possibly afford. There seems to be only one option -- to offer their daughter to Maurice Capel's unmarried sister, Dorothy, living in the beautiful Welsh countryside, and be left with nothing more than memories of Gwen. Dorothy has inherited her father's fortune and cut herself off from the family. Although Gwen would be well cared for, if she got better and Rose and Maurice's finances improved, would they be able to ask for Gwen to be returned? Another story from popular Victorian writer Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Abridged Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9954549-3-4

Coming November 2017

### Miss Elizabeth's Niece

### Margaret Haycraft

"You have scandalised your name and ours, and the only thing to do is to make the best of it, and teach Maisie at least the first principles of ladylike conduct." Trevor Stratheyre, from a wealthy and aristocratic English family, impulsively marries Maisie, a servant girl he meets while touring the Continent. Maisie's mother had died at an Italian inn, leaving three-year-old Maisie to be brought up by the landlord and his wife. She now helps as a maid at the inn and cares for the animals. Maisie is charming and affectionate, but when Trevor brings her back to Stratheyre in England as his bride, to the large estate he is expecting to inherit, it is clear that Maisie's ways are not those of the upper classes. When she tells titled guests at dinner that she was once herding some cows home and one was struck by lightning, trouble is bound to follow.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-7-3

eBook Coming November 2017

### Keena Karmody

Eliza Kerr

Keena Karmody finishes school in London and invites her young French teacher, Marie Delorme, to stay with her on her grandfather's estate at Céim-an-eich in Ireland as her tutor, to complete her education. One day Keena will inherit the large house and the family money. As time goes on, Marie Delorme's stay becomes permanent as she makes secret plans to take possession of the estate. When Keena's grandfather dies, Keena finds that he has made a very different will than the one everyone expected, and Marie is now mistress of the house. What is the shameful family secret that no one has ever discussed with Keena? Her only hope of getting her life back together lies in discovering this secret, and the answer could be with her father's grave in Tuscany. Homeless and penniless Keena Karmody sets out for Italy.

"When she had sought out and found that grave in the distant Tuscan village, and learned the story of her father's life and death, perhaps then death would come, and she might be laid there at his side in peace, and Marie would dwell in Céim-an-eich."

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-5-4

eBook coming December 2017

### The Clever Miss Jancy

### Margaret S. Haycraft

Miss Orabel Jancy is indeed clever, and she knows it. The oldest of widowed Squire Jancy's six children, all living at home, Orabel is the author of several scientific books, and has many letters after her name. To Orabel, education and intellectual pursuits are everything that matter in life. She is secretary of a women's intellectual club that teaches that women are superior to men, and the members have all agreed to remain single because men would hold them back in their academic goals. However, when Orabel was born, a deathbed promise was made with a friend that Orabel and the friend's son, Harold Kingdon, should be given the opportunity to marry. Nobody thinks to mention this to Orabel, and she only learns of the arrangement when she is grown up and Harold Kingdon is already on his way from India -- to propose to her! Even before Harold arrives, Orabel decides she cannot possibly marry a lowly military doctor, when she is so intelligent. As soon as they meet, the feeling of dislike is mutual. But Orabel's younger sister, Annis, who never did well in academic subjects, is also of marriageable age, and would dearly love to settle down with the right man. Their younger brother and small sisters view the developing situation with interest.

The Squire had never found courage to broach the fact of the offer to Orabel, who looks as though her blue eyes would wither the sheet of foreign notepaper in front of her.

"You know, Orabel," puts in Annis, "we did hear something long ago about papa and mamma promising somebody or other out in India should have a chance to court you."

"Oh, do say 'yes,' Orabel," pleads a chorus of little sisters. "It will be so lovely to have a wedding, and Phil can be a page and wear a fancy dress."

"Can he?" growls Philip. "I'd like to catch myself in lace and velvet like those kids at the Hemmings' last week. Orabel, I think you ought to send him your portrait. Let him know, at least, what he's wooing."

With these words Philip beats a prudent retreat, and Orabel gives utterance to such tones that Annis, trembling at her side, is almost in tears.

"Has it come to this," Orabel asks, "that I, the secretary of the Mount Athene Club, should be affronted, insulted by a letter like this? Am I not Orabel Jancy? Am I not the pioneer of a new and emancipating system? And who is this Harold Kingdon that he dares to cross my path with his jests concerning infantile betrothal?"

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-9-7

eBook coming January 2018

### A Daughter of the King

Mrs Philip Barnes

There are the usual misunderstandings in the small village of Royden, but one year they combine to cause serious friction. An elderly lady, the embodiment of kindness, is turned out of her favourite pew by the new vicar. Young and old residents start to view each other with suspicion when a banished husband returns, allegedly to harm his wife and children as he did once before. Both Mary Grey and Elsa Knott want to marry young Gordon Pyne, who lives in the White House, but Gordon is suddenly accused of his father's murder. This is a very readable romance from 1909, with many twists and turns. It has been lightly abridged and edited. A story in the style of those by White Tree Publishing's most popular author, Margaret S. Haycraft.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-0-9957594-8-0

eBook coming January 2018

### Hazel Haldene

Eliza Kerr

Two grownup sisters live under their older brother's thumb. He is obsessed with perfect Christian doctrine and farming, and cannot see why his sisters should want any company but his own. Marie is fond of a local artist, but her brother will not allow such a marriage. Marie's only hope of freedom is to run away and marry in secret. When she returns to the family home eight years later with a child, surely she will be welcome by a brother who professes religion. This story by Eliza Kerr again takes the theme of rejection, but her stories are all very different as well as involving.

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN:

eBook Coming February 2018

### Rollica Reed

Eliza Kerr

When Rollica Reed is left an orphan at the age of sixteen, a friend of her father's takes her in, much to the dismay of his wife and two older daughters who consider themselves to be the cream of Victorian society. The wife and daughters resent Rollica as an intruder, and try to make her life wretched, humiliating her in front of friends and telling her she is too common to be a lady. The two unmarried daughters are concerned by Rollica's naturally good looks, and want to cut her off from meeting any of their friends. Rollica soon learns she must not show any sign of weakness if she is to survive. But can she ever forgive?

White Tree Publishing Edition

eBook only

ISBN: 978-1-9997899-6-1

## Books for Younger Readers

(and older readers too!)

### The Merlin Adventure

Chris Wright

The day Daniel Talbot brought home a stuffed duck in a glass case, everyone thought he'd gone out of his mind. Even he had his doubts at times. "Fancy spending your money on that," his mother scolded him. "You needn't think it's coming into this house, because it isn't!"

When Daniel, Emma, Charlie and Julia, the Four Merlins, set out to sail their model paddle steamer on the old canal, strange and dangerous things start to happen. Then Daniel and Julia make a discovery they want to share with the others.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-2-7

Paperback ISBN: 9785-203447-7-5

5x8 inches 182 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Hijack Adventure

Chris Wright

Anna's mother has opened a transport café, but why do the truck drivers avoid stopping there? An accident in the road outside brings Anna a new friend, Matthew. When they get trapped in a broken down truck with Matthew's dog, Chip, their adventure begins.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-6-5

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-0-5

5x8 inches 140 pages

Available from major internet stores

The Seventeen Steps Adventure

Chris Wright

When Ryan's American cousin, Natalie, comes to stay with him in England, a film from their Gran's old camera holds some surprise photographs, and they discover there's more to photography than taking selfies! But where are the Seventeen Steps, and has a robbery been planned to take place there?

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-7-2

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-6-7

5x8 inches 132 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Two Jays Adventure

The First Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the West Country in England where they set out to make some exciting discoveries. Have they found the true site of an ancient holy well? Is the water in it dangerous? Why does an angry man with a bicycle tell them to keep away from the deserted stone quarry?

A serious accident on the hillside has unexpected consequences, and an old Latin document may contain a secret that's connected to the two strange stone heads in the village church -- if James and Jessica can solve the puzzle. An adventure awaits! This is the first Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9954549-8-9

Available now in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5203448-8-1

5x8 inches 196 pages

Available from major internet stores

### The Dark Tunnel Adventure

The Second Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are on holiday in the Derbyshire Peak District in England, staying near Dakedale Manor, which has been completely destroyed in a fire. Did young Sam Stirling burn his family home down? Miss Parkin, the housekeeper, says he did, and she can prove it. Sam says he didn't, and he can't prove it. But Sam has gone missing. James and Jessica believe the truth lies behind one of the old iron doors inside the disused railway tunnel. This is the second Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-0-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5206386-3-8

188 pages 5x8 inches

Available from major internet stores

$5.99 £4.95

### The Cliff Edge Adventure

The Third Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

James and Jessica's Aunt Judy lives in a lonely guest house perched on top of a crumbling cliff on the west coast of Wales. She is moving out with her dog for her own safety, because she has been warned that the waves from the next big storm could bring down a large part of the cliff -- and her house with it. Cousins James and Jessica, the Two Jays, are helping her sort through her possessions, and they find an old papyrus page they think could be from an ancient copy of one of the Gospels. Two people are extremely interested in having it, but can either of them be trusted? James and Jessica are alone in the house. It's dark, the electricity is off, and the worst storm in living memory is already battering the coast. Is there someone downstairs? This is the third Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9957594-4-2

Paperback ISBN: 9781-5-211370-3-1

188 pages 5x8 inches

$5.99 £4.95

Coming December 2017

### The Midnight Farm Adventure

The Fourth Two Jays Story

Chris Wright

What is hidden in the old spoil tip by the disused Midnight Mine? Two men have permission to dig there, but they don't want anyone watching -- especially not Jessica and James, the Two Jays. And where is Granfer Joe's old tin box, full of what he called his treasure? The Easter holiday at Midnight Farm in Cornwall isn't as peaceful as James's parents planned. An early morning bike ride nearly ends in disaster, and with the so-called Hound of the Baskerville running loose, things turn out to be decidedly dangerous. This is the fourth Two Jays adventure story. You can read them in any order, although each one goes forward slightly in time.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-9997899-1-6

Also available in paperback

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-5497148-3-2

200 pages 5x8 inches

$5.99 £4.95

### Mary Jones and Her Bible

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

The true story of Mary Jones's and her Bible

with a clear Christian message and optional puzzles

(Some are easy, some tricky, and some amusing)

Mary Jones saved for six years to buy a Bible of her own. In 1800, when she was 15, she thought she had saved enough, so she walked barefoot for 26 miles (more than 40km) over a mountain pass and through deep valleys in Wales to get one. That's when she discovered there were none for sale!

You can travel with Mary Jones today in this book by following clues, or just reading the story. Either way, you will get to Bala where Mary went, and if you're really quick you may be able to discover a Bible just like Mary's in the market!

The true story of Mary Jones has captured the imagination for more than 200 years. For this book, Chris Wright has looked into the old records and discovered even more of the story, which is now in this unforgettable account of Mary Jones and her Bible. Solving puzzles is part of the fun, but the whole story is in here to read and enjoy whether you try the puzzles or not. Just turn the page, and the adventure continues. It's time to get on the trail of Mary Jones!

eBook ISBN: ISBN: 978-0-9933941-5-7

Paperback ISBN 978-0-9525956-2-5

5.5 x 8.5 inches

156 pages of story, photographs, line drawings and puzzles

### Pilgrim's Progress

An Adventure Book

Chris Wright

Travel with young Christian as he sets out on a difficult and perilous journey to find the King. Solve the puzzles and riddles along the way, and help Christian reach the Celestial City. Then travel with his friend Christiana. She has four young brothers who can sometimes be a bit of a problem.

Be warned, you will meet giants and lions -- and even dragons! There are people who don't want Christian and Christiana to reach the city of the King and his Son. But not everyone is an enemy. There are plenty of friendly people. It's just a matter of finding them.

Are you prepared to help? Are you sure? The journey can be very dangerous! As with our book Mary Jones and Her Bible, you can enjoy the story even if you don't want to try the puzzles.

This is a simplified and abridged version of Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition, containing illustrations and a mix of puzzles. The suggested reading age is up to perhaps ten. Older readers will find the same story told in much greater detail in Pilgrim's Progress -- Special Edition on the next page.

eBook ISBN 13: 978-0-9933941-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-6-3

5.5 x 8.5 inches 174 pages £6.95

Available from major internet stores

### Pilgrim's Progress

### Special Edition

Chris Wright

This book for all ages is a great choice for young readers, as well as for families, Sunday school teachers, and anyone who wants to read John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress in a clear form.

All the old favourites are here: Christian, Christiana, the Wicket Gate, Interpreter, Hill Difficulty with the lions, the four sisters at the House Beautiful, Vanity Fair, Giant Despair, Faithful and Talkative -- and, of course, Greatheart. The list is almost endless.

The first part of the story is told by Christian himself, as he leaves the City of Destruction to reach the Celestial City, and becomes trapped in the Slough of Despond near the Wicket Gate. On his journey he will encounter lions, giants, and a creature called the Destroyer.

Christiana follows along later, and tells her own story in the second part. Not only does Christiana have to cope with her four young brothers, she worries about whether her clothes are good enough for meeting the King. Will she find the dangers in Vanity Fair that Christian found? Will she be caught by Giant Despair and imprisoned in Doubting Castle? What about the dragon with seven heads?

It's a dangerous journey, but Christian and Christiana both know that the King's Son is with them, helping them through the most difficult parts until they reach the Land of Beulah, and see the Celestial City on the other side of the Dark River. This is a story you will remember for ever, and it's about a journey you can make for yourself.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-8-8

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-7-0

5.5 x 8.5 inches 278 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Zephan and the Vision

Chris Wright

An exciting story about the adventures of two angels who seem to know almost nothing -- until they have a vision!

Two ordinary angels are caring for the distant Planet Eltor, and they are about to get a big shock -- they are due to take a trip to Planet Earth! This is Zephan's story of the vision he is given before being allowed to travel with Talora, his companion angel, to help two young people fight against the enemy.

Arriving on Earth, they discover that everyone lives in a small castle. Some castles are strong and built in good positions, while others appear weak and open to attack. But it seems that the best-looking castles are not always the most secure.

Meet Castle Nadia and Castle Max, the two castles that Zephan and Talora have to defend. And meet the nasty creatures who have built shelters for themselves around the back of these castles. And worst of all, meet the shadow angels who live in a cave on Shadow Hill. This is a story about the forces of good and the forces of evil. Who will win the battle for Castle Nadia?

The events in this story are based very loosely on John Bunyan's allegory The Holy War.

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9932760-6-4

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-9-4

5.5 x 8.5 inches 216 pages

Available from major internet stores

### Agathos, The Rocky Island,

### And Other Stories

Chris Wright

Once upon a time there were two favourite books for Sunday reading: Parables from Nature and Agathos and The Rocky Island.

These books contained short stories, usually with a hidden meaning. In this illustrated book is a selection of the very best of these stories, carefully retold to preserve the feel of the originals, coupled with ease of reading and understanding for today's readers.

Discover the king who sent his servants to trade in a foreign city. The butterfly who thought her eggs would hatch into baby butterflies, and the two boys who decided to explore the forbidden land beyond the castle boundary. The spider that kept being blown in the wind, the soldier who had to fight a dragon, the four children who had to find their way through a dark and dangerous forest. These are just six of the nine stories in this collection. Oh, and there's also one about a rocky island!

This is a book for a young person to read alone, a family or parent to read aloud, Sunday school teachers to read to the class, and even for grownups who want to dip into the fascinating stories of the past all by themselves. Can you discover the hidden meanings? You don't have to wait until Sunday before starting!

eBook ISBN: 978-0-9927642-7-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-0-9525956-8-7

5.5 x 8.5 inches 148 pages £5.95

Available from major internet stores

Don't forget to check our website www.whitetreepublishing.com for the latest books, and updates on availability

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