It was true that I was tired, and yet I could not get to sleep, but tossed and turned in my bed for thinking of many things, and being vexed that we were to leave Moonfleet.  Yet mine was a selfish sorrow; for I had little thought for Elzevir and the pain that it must be to him to quit, the Why Not?:  nor yet was it the grief of leaving Moonfleet that so troubled me, although that was the only place I ever had known, and seemed to me then—­as now—­the only spot on earth fit to be lived in; but the real care and canker was that I was going away from Grace Maskew.  For since she had left school I had grown fonder of her; and now that it was difficult to see her, I took the more pains to accomplish it, and met her sometimes in Manor Woods, and more than once, when Maskew was away, had walked with her on Weatherbeech Hill.  So we bred up a boy-and-girl affection, and must needs pledge ourselves to be true to one another, not knowing what such silly words might mean.  And I told Grace all my secrets, not even excepting the doings of the contraband, and the Mohune vault and Blackbeard’s locket, for I knew all was as safe with her as with me, and that her father could never rack aught from her.  Nay, more, her bedroom was at the top of the gabled wing of the Manor House, and looked right out to sea; and one clear night, when our boat was coming late from fishing, I saw her candle burning there, and next day told her of it.  And then she said that she would set a candle to burn before the panes on winter nights, and be a leading light for boats at sea.  And so she did, and others beside me saw and used it, calling it ’Maskew’s Match’, and saying that it was the attorney sitting up all night to pore over ledgers and add up his fortune.

So this night as I lay awake I vexed and vexed myself for thinking of her, and at last resolved to go up next morning to the Manor Woods and lie in wait for Grace, to tell her what was up, and that we were going away to Worth.

Next day, the 16th of April—­a day I have had cause to remember all my life—­I played truant from Mr. Glennie, and by ten in the forenoon found myself in the woods.

There was a little dimple on the hillside above the house, green with burdocks in summer and filled with dry leaves in winter—­just big enough to hold one lying flat, and not so deep but that I could look over the lip of it and see the house without being seen.  Thither I went that day, and lay down in the dry leaves to wait and watch for Grace.

The morning was bright enough.  The chills of the night before had given way to sunlight that seemed warm as summer, and yet had with it the soft freshness of spring.  There was scarce a breath moving in the wood, though I could see the clouds of white dust stalking up the road that climbs Ridge down, and the trees were green with buds, yet without leafage to keep the sunbeams from lighting up the ground below, which glowed with yellow king-cups.  So I lay there for a long, long while; and to make time pass quicker, took from my bosom the silver locket, and opening it, read again the parchment, which I had read times out of mind before, and knew indeed by heart.