The sun was sinking towards the sea, and there was perfect silence save for the very gentle ripple of the waves. It was so still that a small and slightly ruffled sparrow hopped down to the edge of the water and looked about it. Toby saw him, but only lazily flapped an ear. The sparrow watched the dog for a moment apprehensively, then decided that there was no possible danger and resumed its contemplation of the sea. The waves were so lazy that they could barely drag their way up the sand. They clung to the tiny yellow grains as though they would like to stay and never go back again; then they fell back reluctantly with a little song about their sorrow at having to go. A great peace was in Maradick’s heart. This was the world at its most absolute best. When things were like this there were no problems nor questions at all; Epsom was an impossible myth and money-making game for fools. Tony broke the silence: “I say, Punch, have you any message for me?” “Well, sir, not exactly a message, but I’ve found out something. Not from the young lady herself, you understand. She hasn’t been down again—not when I’ve been there. But I’ve found out about her father.” “Her father?” said Tony excitedly; and Toby also sat up at attention as though he were interested. “Yes; he’s the little man in brown you spoke of. Well known about here, it seems. They say he’s been here as long as anyone can remember, and always the same. No one knows him—keeps ’imself to ’imself; a bit lonely for the girl.” “That man!” cried Tony. “And he’s asked me to call! Why, it’s fate!” He grasped Maradick’s arm excitedly. “He’s her father! her father!” he cried. “And he’s asked us to call! _Her_ father, and we’re to call!” “You’re to call!” corrected Maradick. “He never said anything about me; he doesn’t want me.” “Oh, of course you’re to come. ’Pon my word, Punch, you’re a brick. Is there anything else?” “Well, yes,” said Punch slowly. “He came and spoke to me yesterday after the show. Said he liked it and was very pleasant. But I don’t like ’im all the same. I agree with that gentleman; there’s something queer there, and everyone says so.” “Oh, that’s all right,” said Tony. “Never mind about the man. He’s her father, that’s the point. My word, what luck!” But Punch shook his head dubiously. “What do they say against him, then?” said Tony. “What reasons have they?” “Ah! that’s just it,” said Punch; “they haven’t got no reasons. The man ’asn’t a ’istory at all, which is always an un’ealthy sign. Nobody knows where ’e comes from nor what ’e’s doing ’ere. ’E isn’t Cornish, _that’s_ certain. ’E’s got sharp lips and pointed ears. I don’t like ’im and Toby doesn’t either, and ’e’s a knowing dog if ever there was one.” “Well, I’m not to be daunted,” said Tony; “the thing’s plainly arranged by Providence.”