"Thank you," said Hench politely, and attended to his beer and pipe, while the villagers talked politics and crops and local gossip, and he amused himself by listening to their crude views. In the old days and before Cookley had been brought into near contact with the outer world, the stranger would have been more closely observed and the conversation would have been listened to. But so many tourists now came to the village that the inhabitants paid little attention to them. In his dark corner Owain sat for close upon an hour, wondering at the narrow limits of the Cookley intellect. Still, he was interested in the old-fashioned views of the labourers, and time passed quicker than he noticed. A glance at his watch showed him to his surprise that it was a few minutes to eight, so he rose hastily to seek his destination. As he had already paid for his beer, there was nothing to detain him, and he was speedily passing through the green on his way to the square tower of the church, which stood up blackly in the luminous twilight. So far as Owain could guess there was no danger of his losing his way. A narrow lane, sloping slightly upward to the lychgate, conducted him to the churchyard, and he soon found himself surrounded by tombstones old and new, dotted irregularly amongst the long grass of the enclosure. Keeping to the gravelled path, he made a circuit of the vast church, and finally came to a stile set in the stone wall girdling the place. On climbing over this, he found his feet treading a well-defined path, which meandered across a wide meadow to enter into Parley Wood, which was visible some distance away. Owain, with the aid of a match, found that it was eight o'clock, and the chimes of the church again assured him of the fact. Fearing lest he should be late, he hurried quickly, and his long legs soon took him under the shade of ancient trees. Here it was somewhat dark, but Hench had eyes like a cat, and could very easily follow the path, which wound deviously through the woodland. Around him, in the fragrant dark, life was stirring, and he heard the piercing song of the nightingale, the occasional hoot of an owl, and became aware that sundry creatures were moving more or less noiselessly amongst the undergrowth. At times he moved across a dell where the light was stronger, and then again he would plunge into the gloom of the trees. The young man enjoyed the adventure apart from the reason which had led him to undertake it, as he had a great love of Nature, and enjoyed her beauty.