And then to Kingston’s cherished feelings of mystic awe was abruptly added another. That figure far up on the grey road was no stranger. He knew it well, had known it from time immemorial--known it and yet feared it. The instinct came upon him with a crash, like the sudden recognition of something dreadful that leaps into a nightmare. It was no qualm; it was a certainty. He knew that when he should have reached the summit of the ridge he would look back at the wayfarer’s face and see--_what_, he could not tell, but something, at all events, that he had known for years. The feeling grew on him, and grew and grew, until at last a devouring curiosity annihilated his previous dread. He abandoned himself to the influences of the wizard twilight, and allowed himself to nurse these fantasies which daylight could not have conceived, nor his daylight self been brought to tolerate. Now, however, by the poised, watchful dusk, their power was strengthened and made momentarily heavier. Overwhelming impulses of acquaintanceship seized Kingston. Who could it be that had so enthralled his attention even from afar? And now they were close upon the mystery. It wore a man’s figure, lithe and tall, in a dark knickerbocker suit. Suddenly it turned at the noise of their coming, and looked round. Kingston had one instant of suspense, then fell headlong into an abyss of self-contempt. He had so cosseted his absurdities that he had come at last to believe in them. Why, this wanderer was simply a respectable young gentleman of one-and-twenty or so, whom he had never set eyes on in his life before. He was good-looking, too--brilliantly good-looking, with fine features, a beautifully springy form, and splendid grey eyes, but a total stranger none the less. Kingston felt a pang of disappointment; but though on the surface he knew that he had never seen the boy before, yet a dim instinct within him still obstinately insisted that this was no first meeting. The instinct would not be cried down by perverse facts; it clamoured for recognition, and gradually the former acute feeling of curiosity and acquaintance began to rise again in Kingston. He felt sure he must already have seen the boy somewhere, though he could not recall a single feature. Probably he had caught a glimpse of him in London, and his subconscious mind had photographed the glimpse upon his memory. On a sudden irresistible impulse, he slowed the motor on its course, and as he passed the wayfarer, leaned out towards him. ‘We seem to be going the same way,’ he shouted above the outraged bellowings of the machine. ‘Can’t I give you a lift?’ The other looked up in surprise. Seen at such close quarters, he was more handsome than ever. ‘Oh, thank you,’ he answered after a pause. ‘Thanks very much. But I am very nearly at my destination.’