Great tears flashed into his eyes,--his face paled and contracted as with acutest agony. "I'm sorry, Tom," faltered Miss Tranter, herself quite overcome by his fierce emotion--"I didn't mean----" "Yes--yes!--that's right! Say you didn't mean it!" muttered Tom, with a pained smile--"You didn't----?" "I didn't mean it!" declared Miss Tranter earnestly. "Upon my word I didn't, Tom!" He loosened his hold of her arm. "Thank you! God bless you!" and a shudder ran through his massive frame. "But it's all one with the dark hour!--all one with the wicked tongue of a dream that whispers to me of a coming storm!" He pulled his rough cap over his brows, and strode forward a step or two. Then he suddenly wheeled round again, and doffed the cap to Miss Tranter. "It's unlucky to turn back," he said, "yet I'm doing it, because--because--I wouldn't have you think me sullen or ill-tempered with _you_! Nor ungrateful. You're a good woman, for all that you're a bit rough sometimes. If you want to know where we are, we've camped down by Cleeve, and we're on the way to Dunster. I take the short cuts that no one else dare venture by--over the cliffs and through the cave-holes of the sea. When the old man comes down, tell him I'll have a care of him if he passes my way. I like his face! I think he's something more than he seems." "So do I!" agreed Miss Tranter. "I'd almost swear that he's a gentleman, fallen on hard times." "A gentleman!" Tom o' the Gleam laughed disdainfully--"What's that? Only a robber grown richer than his neighbours! Better be a plain Man any day than your up-to-date 'gentleman'!" With another laugh he swung away, and Miss Tranter remained, as already stated, at the door of the inn for many minutes, watching his easy stride over the rough stones and clods of the "by-road" winding down to the sea. His figure, though so powerfully built, was singularly graceful in movement, and commanded the landscape much as that of some chieftain of old might have commanded it in that far back period of time when mountain thieves and marauders were the progenitors of all the British kings and their attendant nobility. "I wish I knew that man's real history!" she mused, as he at last disappeared from her sight. "The folks about here, such as Mr. Joltram, for instance, say he was never born to the gypsy life,--he speaks too well, and knows too much. Yet he's wild enough--and--yes!--I'm afraid he's bad enough--sometimes--to be anything!" Her meditations were here interrupted by a touch on her arm, and turning, she beheld her round-eyed handmaiden Prue. "The old man you sez is a gentleman is down, Mis' Tranter!" Miss Tranter at once stepped indoors and confronted Helmsley, who, amazed to find it nearly ten o'clock, now proffered humble excuses to his hostess for his late rising. She waived these aside with a good-humoured nod and smile.