He had never thought to see the Pyrenees, never dreamt of looking at Spain.

It was a good holiday.
"Vera, Vera," he again murmured.

How came the place to be so called?
The word seemed to mean _true_.

He mused upon it.
He dined at the village inn, then drove at dusk back to Hendaye, down the great gorge; crags and precipices, wooded ravines and barren heights glooming magnificently under a sky warm with afterglow; beside him the torrent leapt and roared, and foamed into whiteness.
And from Hendaye the train brought him back to St.Jean de Luz.

Before going to bed, he penned a note to Mr.Coppinger, saying that he was Unexpectedly obliged to leave for England, at an early hour next day, and regretted that he could not come to say good-bye.