The sun was setting behind the distant line of the sea when Fitz and his companion urged their tired horses up the last slope to the Casa d'Erraha. Within the gateway Mrs. Baines, the only English servant in this English house, was awaiting them. She curtsied in an old-fashioned way to the doctor, who had not seen an Englishwoman's face for two years and more, and asked him to follow her. Fitz did not offer to accompany them--indeed, he made it quite obvious that he did not want to do so. Two of the vague attendants who are always to be found in their numbers about the doorway and stableyard of a Spanish country-house took the horses, and Fitz wandered round the patio to the southern door which led to the terrace. There was not very much change in Henry FitzHenry since we saw him in Mrs. Harrington's drawing-room six years earlier. The promise of the boy had been fulfilled by the man, and here was a quiet Englishman, chiefly remarkable for a certain directness of purpose which was his, and seemed to pervade his being. Here was one who had commanded men--who had directed skilled labour for the six impressionable years of his life. And he who directs skilled labour is apt to differ in manner, in thought and habit, from him whose commands are obeyed mechanically. The naval officer is a man of detail--he tells others to do that which they know he can do better himself. They said on board the Kittiwake, which was a small ship, that Fitz,--"old" Fitz, they used to call him--was too big for a seafaring life. In height, he was nearly six feet--six feet of spare muscle and bone--such a man as one sees on the north-east coast of England, the east coast of Scotland, or the west coast of Norway--anywhere, in fact, where the Vikings passed. The deep blue eyes had acquired a certain quiet which had been absent in the boyish face--the quiet that comes of a burden on the heart; of the certain knowledge that the burden can never be removed. Luke's life was not the only one that had been spoiled by an examination paper. Examination papers have spoilt more lives than they have benefited. A twin brother is something more than a brother, and Fitz went through life as if one side of him was suffering a dull, aching pain. The face of this man walking alone on the terrace of the House of Repose was not happy. Perhaps it was too strong for complete happiness--some men are so, and others are too wise. This was the face, not of a very wise or a brilliant man, but of one who was strong and simple--something in the nature of a granite rock. Sandstone is more easily shaped into a thing of beauty, but it is also the sandstone that is worn by weather, while a deep mark cut on granite stays there till the end.