“I don’t know . . . one minute I see clear, and then it all gets mixed up again . . . we were up there, stretched on deck, near the tiller . . . another ship was chasing us . . . the men began to row, with long sweeps. . . .”

“But the sand,” he insisted, “is the sand there?”

“The sand? . . .  Yes, I see the sand again . . . we are standing upon it . . . we and the crew . . . the sea is close behind us . . . some men have hold of me . . . they are trying to pull me away from you. . . .  Ah!—­”

And I declare to you that with a sob the poor girl dropped on her knees, there in the aisle, and clasped the young man about the ankles, bowing her forehead upon the insteps of his high boots.  As for him, I cannot hope to describe his face to you.  There was something more in it than wonder—­something more than dismay, even—­at the success of his unhallowed experiment.  It was as though, having prepared himself light-heartedly to witness a play, he was seized and terrified to find himself the principal actor.  I never saw ghastlier fear on human cheeks.

“For God’s sake, sir,” I cried, stamping my foot, “relax your cursed spells!  Relax them and leave us!  This is a house of prayer.”

He put a hand under the girl’s chin, and, raising her face, made a pass or two, still with the daisy-chain in his hand.  She looked about her, shivered and stood erect.  “Where am I?” she asked.  “Did I fall?  What are you doing with my chain?” She had relapsed into her habitual childishness of look and speech.

I hurried them from the church, resolutely locked the door, and marched up the path without deigning a glance at the young man.  But I had not gone fifty yards when he came running after.

“I entreat you, sir, to pardon me.  I should have stopped the experiment before.  But I was startled—­thrown off my balance.  I am telling you the truth, sir!”

“Very likely,” said I.  “The like has happened to other rash meddlers before you.”

“I declare to you I had no thought—­” he began.  But I interrupted him: 

“‘No thought,’ indeed!  I bring you here to resolve me, if you can, a curious puzzle in archaeology, and you fall to playing devil’s pranks upon a half-witted child.  ’No thought!’—­I believe you, sir.”

“And yet,” he muttered, “it is an amazing business:  the sand—­the velarium—­the outstretched arm and hand—­pollice compresso—­the exact gesture of the gladiatorial shows—­”

“Are you telling me, pray, of gladiatorial shows under the Eastern Empire?” I demanded scornfully.

“Certainly not:  and that,” he mused, “only makes it the more amazing.”

“Now, look here,” said I, halting in the middle of the road, “I’ll hear no more of it.  Here is my gate, and there lies the highroad, on to Porthlooe or back to Plymouth, as you please.  I wish you good morning, sir; and if it be any consolation to you, you have spoiled my digestion for a week.”