By a strange illusion the road appeared to run up against a lot of low stars at no very great distance, but as we advanced new stretches of whitey- brown ribbon seemed to come up from under the black ground.

I observed, as we went by, the lamp in my parlour in the farmhouse still burning.

But I did not leave Fyne to run in and put it out.

The impetus of his pedestrian excellence carried me past in his wake before I could make up my mind.
"Tell me, Fyne," I cried, "you don't think the girl was mad--do you ?" He answered nothing.

Soon the lighted beacon-like window of the cottage came into view.