He thought, as he paused before he passed into the town, that he had never seen the sea as it was to-day. Although it was so still and seemed to make no sound at all, every kind of light, like colours caught struggling in a net, seemed to be in it. Mother of pearl was the nearest approach to the beauty of it, but that was very far away. There was gold and pink and grey, and the faintest creamy yellow, and the most delicate greens, and sometimes even a dark edge of black; but it never could be said that this or that colour were there, because it changed as soon as one looked at it and melted into something else; and far away beyond the curving beach the black rocks plunged into the blue, and seemed to plant their feet there and then to raise them a little as the sea retreated. He passed through the market-place and saluted the tower for the last time. There were very few people about and he could make his adieux in privacy. He would never forget it, its grey and white stone, its immovable strength and superiority to all the rest of its surroundings. He fancied that it smiled farewell to him as he stood there. It seemed to say: “You can forget me if you like; but don’t forget what I’ve taught you—that there’s a spirit and a courage and a meaning in us all if you’ll look for it. Good-bye; try and be more sensible and see a little farther than most of your silly fellow-creatures.” Oh yes! there was contempt in it too, as it stood there with its white shoulders raised so proudly against the sky. He tenderly passed his hand over some of the rough grey stones in a lingering farewell. Probably he’d been worth something to the tower in an obscure sort of way. He believed enough in its real existence to think it not fantastic that it should recognise his appreciation of it and be glad. His next farewell was to Punch. He climbed the little man’s dark stairs with some misgiving. He ought to have been in there more just lately, especially after the poor man losing his dog. He owed a great deal to Punch; some people might have found his continual philosophising tiresome, but to Maradick its sincerity and the very wide and unusual experience behind it gave the words a value and authority. He found Punch sitting on his bed trying to teach the new dog some of the things that it had to learn. He jumped up when he saw Maradick, and his face was all smiles. “Why, I’m that glad to see you,” he said, “I’d been hopin’ you’d come in before you were off altogether. Yes, this is the new dog. It ain’t much of a beast, only a mongrel, but I didn’t want too fine a dog after Toby; it looks like comparison, in a way, and I’m thinkin’ it might ’urt ’im, wherever ’e is, if ’e knew that there was this new one takin’ ’is place altogether.” The new one certainly wasn’t very much of a beast, but it seemed to have an enormous affection for its master and a quite pathetic eagerness to learn.