"Yet it is only a week since you wrote and reproached me for neglecting the Devon moors. I can slay you with your own quotation. You bade me join you in-- 'This other Eden, demi-paradise, This fortress built by Nature for herself'-- and now you would have us cavort along dusty highways to other joys. Why is it?" "My quotation applied to the whole of this sceptered isle." "You are quibbling, Dacre, and I think I guess the reason. Have you heard anything of Marten recently?" His companion did not try to conceal the surprise that leaped to his eyes. "Your Indians made you a bit of wizard," he said. "I'll tell you now what I meant to hide from you. Marten has rented Lord Valescure's place on the hill yonder, and is due here tomorrow or next day. I heard the name of the new tenant only this morning, and decided that we ought to quit if we want to be happy." "No. If you'll let me, I'll remain." "Is it wise?" "I endured the major wrench last night. Marten and--and his daughter were staying in the same hotel as myself." "So you have seen her--at last?" "Yes, and I'll confess my weakness. Having seen her, I wish to speak to her. I admit my folly; but I cannot help it. Somehow--I think--that her mother--would wish it. I'll placate Marten, grovel to him, if I may be allowed to meet her." "My dear Derry, I've said my say. You ought to have lived two thousand years ago, and Euripides would have immortalized you in a tragedy." The eyes of the two men clashed; but Power repressed the imminent request for an explanation of that cryptic remark. He dared not ask what Dacre had in mind. His comment might have been a chance shaft; but it fell dangerously near the forbidden territory of Nancy's close-veiled secret. When next he spoke, it was to give a motorist's account of the mishaps of the road. A week passed. Dacre's house lay halfway up a wooded comb, or valley, and the Valescure castle stood on a bold tor that thrust itself bluntly into the sea. Unless the occupants of each place were on friendly terms, they might dwell in the same district and not meet once in a year. By taking a rough path they were barely three-quarters of a mile apart; but the only practicable carriage-road covered three miles or more. Dacre's interests lay with the fisher-folk at the foot of the comb or among the woods and heather of Dartmoor Forest, rolling up into the clouds behind his abode, while the great folk of the castle seldom came his way, unless Lord Valescure happened to be in residence, when the two forgathered often. But Dacre was right when he hinted at the tragic inevitableness of his friend's life. They had strolled into the rectory for tea, and were chatting with their hostess about a forthcoming charity fête, when a motor rumbled to the door, and Nancy Marten appeared, a radiant vision in the muslin and flower-decked hat of summer.