“The world is censorious little one. I am a young man, you are a young lady. We shall have to shake hands soon and say good-bye. There, there,” he continued, seeing her eyes fill with tears, “I’m not gone yet. I shall stay as long as I can, only--really--you must look upon me as quite an old fellow. I _am_ awfully old, you know, compared to you.” He gently disengaged himself, and Matt sat down on a camp stool close by. Her face had grown very wistful and sad, “Matt,” he said, anxious to change the subject, “tell me something more about William Jones.” “I hate William Jones. I hate everybody--but _you_.” “Really?” “Yes, I do.” “Well, I feel greatly flattered. But about the gentle Jones? You say he was out all last night.” Matt nodded. “He goes out nigh every night,” she said, “and often don’t come home till morning, Sometimes he finds things and brings ’em. He finds bits o’ gold and old ropes and bottles o’ rum.” “Very odd. Where?” “He don’t tell; _I_ know.” “I wish you’d tell me, Matt. Do, I have a particular reason for wanting the information.” “You won’t say I told? William Jones would be downright wild, he would.” “I’ll keep the secret faithfully. Now.” Thus urged, Matt informed her friend that on two occasions, out of curiosity, she had followed her guardian on his nightly pilgrimages, and watched him go in the direction of the Devil’s Cauldron. On both occasions the night was very dark. On getting clear of the coastguard station, and among the sand-hills, Jones had lighted a lantern which he carried. Trembling and afraid, she had followed the light along the cliffs, then out among the sand-hills. But all at once the light and its bearer had disappeared into the solid earth, leaving her to find her way home in terror. The explanation of all this was, in Matt’s opinion, very simple. William Jones was a bad man, and went to “visit the fairies.” “Yes,” she cried, “and every time he goes the fairies give him summat, and he brings it home.” “Each time you followed him,” asked Brinkley, thoughtfully, “he disappeared at about the same place?” “Yes,” said Matt, “and the light and him sunk right down and never come up again.” * * * * * The result of the information thus communicated was to leave the young man of the caravan far more curious than ever. He determined to turn the tables on William Jones, and to watch his movements, not in the daytime, but during the summer night, waiting for his appearance in the immediate neighbourhood of the Devil’s Cauldron. The first night he saw nothing--it was stormy, with wild gusts of rain. The second night was equally uneventful. Nothing daunted, he went for a third and last time, and lay in the moonlight on the cliffs, looking towards the village. The night was dark and cloudy, but from time to time the moon came out with sudden brilliance on the sea, which was gently stirred by a breeze from the land.