“The road—­the road!” exclaimed Cary.  “I travel it in my sleep.  It haunts me as I haunt it.  I know all its long stretches, all its turns—­” He sighed, and moved so as to face the whitened ribbon.

“You ride,” said the dancing master; “but, for my own convenience, I go afoot, and it is probable that I know it best.”

They sat gazing down past garden and hillside to the still highway.  “I have not walked upon it, however,” continued Mr. Pincornet reflectively, “since September.  I then went afoot from Clover Hill to Red Fields, where I was taken ill.  It was the seventh of September.”

“The seventh of September!”

“I remember the day,” continued Mr. Pincornet, “because I sat down under a tree beside the road to rest, and I had an almanac in my pocket.”

“You remember it by nothing else?”

“Why, by one thing more,” answered the other.  “I sat there, my head on my hand, perhaps thinking of nothing, perhaps thinking of France—­an empty road and in the sky black clouds—­when suddenly—­what do you say?—­clatter, crash! through the wood opposite and down a tall red bank to the road came another pupil of mine—­”

“Yes?” said Cary.  “Who?”

“Mr. Lewis Rand.”

Something fell to the floor with a slight sound.  It was the book that had rested upon Cary’s crossed knee.  He stooped and picked it up, then, straightening himself, looked again at the silver ribbon.  “Black clouds in the sky,” he said, in a curious voice, “and the seventh of September, M. de Pincornet?”

“Yes,” replied the other, “by the almanac.  That was two days, was it not, before your brother’s death?”

“My brother, sir, was murdered upon the seventh of September.”

“The seventh!  The ninth!  You mean the ninth!  I heard it so when I recovered—­”

“You heard it wrongly.  It was the seventh.”

There was a silence; then, “Indeed,” said the dancing master, in a curious dry and shocked voice.  “The seventh.  At what hour?”

“It is not known.  Perhaps about midday, perhaps a little later—­when there were black clouds in the sky.”

The silence fell again, hard and full of meaning, then Cary leaned forward and laid his hand upon the other’s arm “I’ve hunted long alone, now we’ll hunt for a moment together!  Tell me again.”

“He came down the bank in a great noise and rolling of stone and earth.  There were thick woods on the top of the bank.  He came out of them like Pluto out of the earth—­”

“He was alone?”

“Alone.  But he had a negro waiting for him down the road.”

“He told you that?”

“I left my tree and we talked a little.  He was torn, he was breathless.  He explained that he had started a doe and had followed through the woods.  He left me and went down the road to meet his negro.  They passed me, and when I came to Red Fields, I was told they had paused there.  I said nothing of our meeting.  I was very tired and the storm was breaking.  Before it was over I was hot and cold and shaking and ill in my bed.  I was ill, as I have told you, for a long time.  The ninth!  I always thought it was the ninth—­”