Between the hours of twelve and one on a dark night in the last week of March when yet the faint crescent of a new moon gave a glimmer of light, a man made his way stealthily across the field, and in the shadow of the high walls, towards the Scar. When he reached the entrance he sat down on a rock with his back to the cliff, and for the space of ten minutes remained absolutely motionless. But though his body was still, his intelligence was alert, and his senses were scouting for him. He was accustoming himself to the sounds that become easily distinguishable when one listens intently; and training his eyes to penetrate the darkness. Directly opposite to where he sat the ravine touched hands with the valley; the frowning western cliff ran out upon the moor and became dismembered; the upper part falling back from the lower. On the intervening space a portion of the steep slope was carpeted with green; but the greater part was covered with a thick deposit of loose shingle, the plunder snatched by wild free-booting storms from the rocks overhead. Below there was another wall of rock of no great height above the stream that raged at its base. Inman—for the nocturnal visitor was he—rose at last, and as if satisfied that no further precautions of an elaborate nature were necessary, crossed the stream and set himself to scale the rock. Apparently he was familiar with his task, for he climbed confidently and before long had his feet upon the shingle. It was here that the more serious part of the adventure began, and from the hesitating way in which he set out upon the second part of his journey it was evident that he regarded it with some distaste. Every movement of his feet sent a mass of loose stones hurtling down the slope, and he made slow progress. To his sensitive ears the noise was appalling, for the air was still and sound travelled far. In the distance a dog began to bark, and kept on barking loudly and uneasily, but although Inman cursed it in his heart he did not allow it to affect his movements. Helping himself forward with his hands, he had almost reached the stretch of green at which he was aiming when a too eager step set the unstable track in motion; and in spite of his efforts—it may be even because of them—he was carried with ever-accelerating speed down the precipitous incline and only saved himself at the very edge of the low cliff. For some minutes he lay prone, thinking deeply, whilst the shingle continued to roll past him. After a while it ceased to fall, and he had just determined to rise and make a second attempt when he became convinced that the dog was loose and coming in his direction, whereupon panic seized him, and having groped with his toes until he found a crevice in the rock, he lowered himself to the ground.