“Put this on, Sisily.”

Sisily turned with a start.  Her aunt, a large stout woman muffled in heavy furs, was standing behind her, holding a wrap in her hand.

“You’ll catch your death of cold, child, standing here in this thin dress,” the elder lady continued.  “Why didn’t you wear your coat?  You’d be warmer sitting in the car.  It’s really very selfish of Robert, keeping us all waiting in this dreadful wind!” She shivered, and drew her furs closer.  “Why doesn’t he come away?  As if it could do any good!”

As she spoke the tall form of Robert Turold was seen approaching through the rank grass and mouldering tombstones with a quick stride.  He emerged from the churchyard gate with a stern and moody face.

“Let us get home,” he said, and his words were more of a command than request.

He walked across the road to the car with his sister and daughter.  The men by the cross followed.  They were his brother, his brother’s son, his sister’s husband, and the local doctor, whose name was Ravenshaw.  With a clang and a hoot the car started on the return journey.  The winding cobbled street of the churchtown was soon left behind for a road which struck across the lonely moors to the sea.  Through the moors and stony hills the car sped until it drew near a solitary house perched on the edge of the dark cliffs high above the tumbling waters of the yeasty sea which foamed at their base.

The car stopped by the gate where the moor road ended.  The mourners alighted and entered the gate.  Their approach was observed from within, for as they neared the house the front door was opened by an elderly man-servant with a brown and hawk-beaked face.

Walking rapidly ahead Robert Turold led the way into a front sitting-room lighted by a window overlooking the sea.  There was an air of purpose in his movements, but an appearance of strain in his careworn face and twitching lips.  He glanced at the others in a preoccupied way, but started perceptibly as his eye fell upon his daughter.

“There is no need for you to remain, Sisily,” he said in a harsh dry voice.

Sisily turned away without speaking.  Her cousin Charles jumped up to open the door, and the two exchanged a glance as she went out.  The young man then returned to his seat near the window.  Robert Turold was speaking emphatically to Dr. Ravenshaw, answering some objection which the doctor had raised.

“...  No, no, Ravenshaw—­I want you to be present.  You will oblige me by remaining.  I will go upstairs and get the documents.  I shall not keep you long.  Thalassa, serve refreshments.”

He left the room quickly, as though to avoid further argument.  The elderly serving-man busied himself by setting out decanters and glasses, then went out like one who considered his duty done, leaving the company to wait on themselves.

CHAPTER II