I took his hand, and thanked him with what words I could that he had let me go, and then got on the smock, putting some bread and meat in my pockets, as I was likely to find little to eat on my journey.  It was dark before we left the cave, for there is little dusk with us, and the division between day and night sharper than in more northern parts.  Elzevir took me by the hand and led me through the darkness of the workings, telling me where I should stoop, and when the way was uneven.  Thus we came to the bottom of the shaft, and looking up through ferns and brambles, I could see the deep blue of the sky overhead, and a great star gazing down full at us.  We climbed the steps with the soap-stone slide at one side, and then walked on briskly over the springy turf through the hillocks of the coveted quarry-heaps and the ruins of the deserted cottages.

There was a heavy dew which got through my boots before we had gone half a mile, and though there was no moon, the sky was very clear, and I could see the veil of gossamers spread silvery white over the grass.  Neither of us spoke, partly because it was safer not to speak, for the voice carries far in a still night on the Downs; and partly, I think, because the beauty of the starry heaven had taken hold upon us both, ruling our hearts with thoughts too big for words.  We soon reached that ruined cottage of which Elzevir had spoken, and in what had once been an oven, found the compass safe enough as Ratsey had promised.  Then on again over the solitary hills, not speaking ourselves, and neither seeing light in window nor hearing dog stir, until we reached that strange defile which men call the Gates of Purbeck.  Here is a natural road nicking the highest summit of the hill, with walls as sharp as if the hand of man had cut them, through which have walked for ages all the few travellers in this lonely place, shepherds and sailors, soldiers and Excisemen.  And although, as I suppose, no carts have been through it for centuries, there are ruts in the chalk floor as wide and deep as if the cars of giants used it in past times.

So here Elzevir stopped, and drawing from his bosom that silver-butted pistol of which I have spoken, thrust it in my hand.  ’Here, take it, child,’ he said, ’but use it not till thou art closely pressed, and then if thou must shoot, shoot low—­it flings.’  I took it and gripped his hand, and so we parted, he going back to Purbeck, and I making along the top of the ridge at the back of Hoar Head.  It must have been near three when I reached a great grass-grown mound called Culliford Tree, that marks the resting-place of some old warrior of the past.  The top is planted with a clump of trees that cut the skyline, and there I sat awhile to rest.  But not for long, for looking back towards Purbeck, I could see the faint hint of dawn low on the sea-line behind St. Alban’s Head, and so pressed forward knowing I had a full ten miles to cover yet.