For that matter, he was not a god, either. Consequently, the counsel which he presently offered his niece had to be communicated by the material channel of the "common or garden" post, and was, in fact, nearing Modane when Valerie rounded the edge of a belt of Scotch firs in Hampshire to come upon Anthony Lyveden regarding an old finger-post in some perplexity. As my lady came up, Lyveden uncovered and pointed to a weather-beaten arm, upon which the words FRANCE 4 MILES were still discernible. "Can you help me?" he said. Valerie smiled. "I think so. This is a very old post--over a hundred years old. You know Hawthorne?" "I ought to." "Well, once upon a time the village was called France. But during the Napoleonic wars the name was changed. For obvious reasons." "And they forgot to alter this?" said Anthony, nodding at the cracked grey wood. Valerie shook her head. "No one would do the work. You know they used to bury suicides at the cross-roads? Well, one was buried here. That was when--when the post was set up...." A little shiver accompanied her words. "I see," said Anthony. "The body was staked, wasn't it? What a barbarous old world it was! I don't wonder they were afraid of the place." "It's supposed to have been an old usurer who came from these parts and had ruined all sorts of people in his time." "And why did he kill himself?" said Anthony. "I forget. There was some mystery about it. I remember an old, old shepherd telling me some of the tale, when I was a little girl, and my nurse came up in the middle and scolded him and snatched me away." "Quite right, too," said Anthony. "And if she was here now, History would probably repeat itself." With a sweep of his arm he indicated the country-side. "Was this your nursery?" Valerie nodded. "In the summer." She hesitated. "I'll show you my window, if you like. It's the best part of a mile, though." Anthony laughed and turned to summon his terrier. "Patch and I," he said, "have at least one afternoon a week. As long as I'm back in time to lay the table...." A moment later he was stepping along by her side. It had not occurred to him to ask what "her window" might be. If she had offered to show him the mouth of hell, he would have assented as blindly. Whither he went and what he saw did not matter at all, so he was to be in her company. All the same, his instinct pulled him by the sleeve. Hazily he reflected that to retrace such steps as you have taken along the path of Love is a bad business, and that the farther you have elected to venture, so much the more distressing must be your return. And he would have to return. In the absence of a miracle, that journey could not be avoided. For an instant the spectre of Reckoning leaned out of the future.... Then Patch flushed a stray pig, and Valerie laughed joyously, and--the shadow was gone. Cost what it might, Anthony determined to pluck the promise of the afternoon with an unsparing hand.