Then she turned to Miss Ironsyde.

“The first time I came in and found him reading a book catalogue, I knew he was going to be all right.”

“By the same token another gift has reached me,” he answered; “a book on the bells of Devon, which I have long wanted to possess.”

“I’m sure it is not such a perfect book as yours.”

“Indeed it is—­very excellently done.  The bell mottoes in Devonshire are worthy of all admiration.  But a great many of the bells in ancient bell-chambers are crazed—­a grave number.  People don’t think as much of a ring of bells in a parish as they used to do.”

Miss Ironsyde brought the conversation back to Abel; but Ernest was tired of this.  He viewed Sabina’s departure with great personal regret.

“Things will be as they will, my dears,” he told them, “and I have such respect for Sabina’s good sense that I shall be quite content to leave decision with her.  It would not become me to dictate or command in such a delicate matter.  To return to the bells, I have received a rather encouraging statement from the publishers.  Four copies of my book have been sold during the last six months.”

CHAPTER VII

THE WALK HOME

Upon a Bank Holiday Sabina took Abel to West Haven for a long day on the beach and pier.  He enjoyed himself very thoroughly, ate, drank and played to his heart’s content.  But his amusements brought more pleasure to the child than his mother, for he found the wonderful old stores and discovered therein far more entertaining occupation than either sea or shore could offer.

The place was deserted to-day, and while Sabina sat outside in a corner of the courtyard and occupied herself with the future, Abel explored the mysteries of the ancient building and found all manner of strange nooks and mysterious passages.  He wove dreams and magnified the least incident into an adventure.  He inhabited the dark corners and sombre, subterranean places with enemies that wanted to catch him; he most potently believed that hidden treasures awaited him under the hollow-echoing floors.  Once he had a rare fright, for a bat hanging asleep in its folded wings, was wakened by him and suddenly flew into his face.  He climbed and crawled and crept about, stole a lump of putty and rejoiced at the discovery of some paint pots and a brush.  The ’Red Hand’ no longer existed; but the opportunity once more to set up its sinister symbol was too good to resist.  He painted it on the walls in several places and then called his mother to look at the achievement.

She climbed up a long flight of stone steps that led to the lofts, and suffered a strange experience presently, for the child was playing in the chamber sacred to her surrender.  She stood where twelve years before she had come with Raymond Ironsyde after their day at Golden Cap.

Light fell through a window let into the roof.  It was broken and fringed with cobwebs.  The pile of fishermen’s nets had vanished and a carpenter’s bench had taken its place.  On the walls and timbers were scrawled names and initials of holiday folk, who had explored the old stores through many years.