"You would have me go shuddering past the fatal spot, I suppose, with shaking knees and averted head, eh? On the contrary, I have been down on the sands for more than an hour this morning, and have returned with an excellent appetite." I looked at him curiously. "I saw you returning," I said. "Your boots looked as though you had been wading in the wet sand. You were not there without a purpose." "I was not," he admitted. "I seldom do anything without a purpose." For a moment he abandoned the subject. He proceeded calmly with his breakfast, and addressed a few remarks to a man across the table, a man with short cropped hair and beard, and a shooting dress of sombre black. "You are quite right," he said, turning towards me suddenly. "I had a purpose in going there. I thought that the gentleman whose untimely fate has enlisted your sympathies might have dropped something which would have been useful to me." For the moment I forgot this man's kindness to me. I looked at him with a shudder. "If you are in earnest," I said, "I trust that you were unsuccessful." I fancied that there was that in his glance which suggested the St. Bernard looking down on the terrier, and I chafed at it. "It would have been better for you," he said, grimly, "had my search met with better result." "For me?" I repeated. "For you! Yes! The man came to see you. If he had been alive you might have been in his toils by now. He was a very cunning person, and those who sent him were devils." "How do you know these things?" I asked, amazed. "From the letters which I ripped from his coat," he answered. "He came to Braster to see me, then?" I exclaimed. "Precisely." "And the letters which you took from him--were they addressed to me?" "They were." I was getting angry, but Ray remained imperturbable. "I think," I said, "you will admit that I have a right to them." "Not a shadow of a doubt of it," he answered. "In fact, it was so obvious that I destroyed them." "Destroyed my letters!" "Precisely! I chose that course rather than allow them to fall into your hands." "You admit, then," I said, "that I had a right to them." "Indubitably. But they do not exist." "You read them, without doubt. You can acquaint me with their contents." "Some day," he said, "I probably shall. But not yet. Believe me or not, as you choose, but there are certain positions in which ignorance is the only possible safe state. You are in such a position at the present moment." "Are you," I asked, "my moral guardian?" "I have at least," he said, "incurred certain responsibilities on your behalf. You could no longer hold your present post and be in communication with the sender of those letters." My anger died away despite myself. The man's strength and honesty of purpose were things which I could not bring myself to doubt. I continued my breakfast in silence. "By-the-bye," he remarked presently, "you, too, my young friend, were out early this morning."