Charred Wood

tched away to his right for over a thousand feet. Along the road which ran almost parallel with the wall was the remnant of what

hree banks and, after a fashion, eight small churches. In front, had the lounger cared to look, he would have seen the huge rocks topping the bluff against which the ocean dashed itself into angry foam. But the man didn't care to

vines, at its base a rank growth of shrubs and wild hedge; behind it, in the near distance, the towers of a house that, in another land, perched amid jutting crags, would have inspired visions of far-off days of romance. Even in its New England setting

and he stared, bewildered. It was a woman, young, if her figure were to be trusted. His cigar dropped in the grass, and there he let it lie. His gaze never left her as she walked on; and he could scarcely be blamed, for he was still under thirty-five and fem

t lifted his hat to the lady and was now turning to walk back with her by the way he had come. They evidently knew each other well; and the man watching them almost laughed at himself when he realized that he was slightly piqued at the cle

ppeared. He recognized them both. One was a book agent who was stopping at the hotel in

er?" he

as surely a native New Engla

her without that confounded veil. This is the first time she'

to the constable, ta

lue eyes'-did y

red the constable;

ue eyes, regular feat

constable. "She'd no pug

nches tall'-that's right. 'Small hands and feet'-that'

e star. "I knowed her right away, and I've seed her

look at the unbroken wall-"wher

ing back his helmet

s the rub. There's no gate

lima

hasset don't like that; it shuts off the view of the house and lawn. Lawn's

?" insisted the agent, c

e. He looked toward the top of th

ess looking

o other wa

a closer inspection of that wal

well behind the wild hedge along the wall so t

d walked to the wall. Then he laughed. Close examination showed him marks in the giant tree, the vertical cuts being cleverly covered by the bark, while the horizontal ones had creepers festooned over them. A door was well concealed. But the tree? It was large, yet ther

mself now located in a stuffy New England inn just at the end of the summe

so he soon gave up the idea. He tried Oxford, but failed there for the same reason. Then he just drifted. Now, still on the sunny side of thirty-five, he was knocking about, sick of things, just existing, and fearfully bored. He had dropped into Sihasset through sheer curiosity-just to see a typical New England summer resort where the Yankee type had not yet entirely di

her parents moved to London and Mark was sent to school. After school he had traveled. For the last ten years England had been merely a place to think of as home. He had been in India, and South America, and Canada-up on the Yukon. He would have stayed there, but somebody suggested that he might be a remittance man. Ye gods! a remittance man with ten thousand pounds a year! And who could have had much more, for Mark Griffin was a master with his pen. His imagination glowed, and his travels had fann

d women of all kinds he had met, he was clean. There was a something in the memory of his mothe

s the courage to run away from the temptation to be unclean. It is the only ti

wander and meet temptations, he found himself treasuring it as his best and dearest memory of her. True, h

had treasured. His nature was full of reverence. His soul burned to respond to the call of faith, but something rebelled. He had read everything, and was humble enough to acknowledge that he knew little. He had given up the struggle to believe. Nothing seemed satisfactory. It worried him to think that he had reached such a conclusion, but he was consoled by the tho

t the manner of her coming? She was just like an ideal he had often made for himself. Few men meet even the one who looks like the ideal, but he had seen the reality-coming out of a tree. He kept on wondering how long she had been there. He himself had been dreaming in front of th

e voices of the agent and constable. They were coming ba

er. I've got to see that face. It's the only way! If I saw i

ed the constable. "She m

be sure," inter

ain't ye? There's the ph

't take chances on this job-it's too important-and I've got to re

right, see her if ye can! Ye're the jedge. She's coming around the bend of the

with her?" as

that far-she seldom does. But he goes to see

if he know

ive. "Father Murray's nobody's fool," he added, "and she won't talk to nobody el

and I've talked with him by the hour-but always about books; I cou

he bushes, and his companion stood

d, and the woman seemed distressed. What the agent intended to do Mark could not guess, but he made up his mind at once as to what he would d

y. "Who'd expect to see you here, wi

ark was friendly. He slipped his arm out of

our soul. Did you ever think of the beauty of it? Such a day!-no wo

ammered a reply to Mark's unwelcome greeting before he turned. But it was too late, for Mark heard the click that told him that the tree had closed. He lo