'Is there no place to hide in?' he muttered; 'is there not a rock, not a stone? Is it all bare—bare and accursed. They will come hunting at daybreak.'

'Do they know you are away?'

'Know? Every day I baulk them and beat them. I lie hid, and I hear their feet on the stones above me. I see the shine of their steel through the gaps. Where can I hide? You are of the coast?'

'Yes.'

'Where can I hide? Hide me. If you betray me I will kill you—somehow.'

Musa did not answer. She was thinking.

'I know of one place,' she said slowly.

'On the shore?'

'No. Inland; a little way.'

He rose with difficulty; a tall, gaunt, terrible form, black and weird against the shining sea and the starry skies.

'Lead me there. Remember, I need no knife to kill you. You are young, and to me are little.'

'I am not afraid that you should kill me.'

She spoke the truth; she was not afraid. An immense pity, and what was that stronger sister of pity—sympathy—was in her for the hunted, houseless man, and the strength of