It required two or three days of repose and nursing before I could recover from my recent shock and the injuries to my hands. When at last I was sufficiently restored to leave the house for a walk, I felt small inclination to proceed to Pen Maelgwyn, and after hesitating as to my direction I eventually turned my steps towards a small beach that nestled below the northern promontory of the bay. In this sheltered fissure of the coast I used sometimes to sit on the shaly rocks covered with soft tussocks of faded sea-pinks, or else used to linger by the tide idly seeking amongst the wet shining pebbles for stray moss-agates or the tiny cowries like roseate pearls that a westerly gale invariably cast on these shores. Accordingly I followed a path towards this cove and descended the cart track that finally lost itself in the dry sand and globular boulders of the upper portion of this little haven. On advancing thus far I perceived to my surprise and annoyance that I should not obtain solitary possession of my accustomed haunt, for close to the water's edge stood a horse and cart; whilst I could detect the grating sound of shovelling sea-gravel by some person who for the moment was hidden by the cart itself. I strolled down the long narrow space to discover with a start of astonishment that the individual occupied in digging the gravel was none other than Fajal. He seemed in no wise disconcerted at my apparition, but merely continued to ply his task till I almost touched him, when he immediately dropped his spade and sank on his knees amidst the dripping stones and weeds. He then proceeded to kiss my hands, my knees, and even my feet, but of this behaviour I took no heed. "I have examined my face in your mirror, Fajal----" I began. "Your Majesty has no need to tell this to your servant," replied he, with a sad, weary smile on his face, which expressed neither pleasure nor interest in my statement. "--And I am now wholly convinced of the necessity for my immediate return to Meleager," continued I, rather nettled by Fajal's nonchalance. "A few minutes' study of self in its surface is of more avail than a month spent in book-lore or close meditation," retorted Fajal dryly. "It is our last resource, our irresistible argument, although to the best of my knowledge there has never arisen any occasion to resort to it hitherto. Yet you perceive we are fore-armed in Meleager against every emergency, even for the case of a recalcitrant monarch who will not return to the people he has deserted." "I should never have deserted Meleager," I cried with some heat, "had not your caste set before me the choice of death or flight."