“Well, the rest was easy.  Arrived at the furthest spit of rock, I tossed the bag from me far into the northern sand.  Then I turned to Lydia, whom I had set down for the moment.  In the moonlight her lips were parted as though she were still chattering; so I kissed her once, because I had loved her, and dropped her body over into the Quick-Boy Sand.  In three minutes or so I had seen the last of her.

“I trundled home the barrow, mixed myself a glass of whisky, sat beside it for half an hour, and then aroused the servants.  I was cunning, sir; and no one could trace my footprints on the turf and rock of Woeful Ness.  The missing hand-bag, and the disarray I had been careful to make in the bed-room, provided them at once with a clue—­but it did not lead them to the Quick-Boy.  For two days they searched; at the end of that time it grew clear to them that grief was turning my brain.  Your father, sir, was instant with his sympathy—­at least ten times a day I had much ado to keep from laughing in his face.  Finally two doctors visited me, and I was taken to a madhouse.

“I have remained within its walls twenty-nine years; but no—­I have never been thoroughly at home there.  Two days ago I discovered that the place was boring me.  So I determined to escape; and this to a man of my resources presented few difficulties.  I borrowed this pony from a stable not many yards from the madhouse wall; he belongs, I think, to a chimney-sweep, and I trust that, after serving my purpose, he may find a way back to his master.”

I suppose at this point he must have detected the question in my eyes, for he cried sharply.

“You wish to know my purpose?  It is simple.”  He passed a thin hand over his forehead.  “I have been shut up, as I say, for twenty-nine years, and I now discover that the madhouse bores me.  If they re-take me—­and the hue and cry must be out long before this—­I shall be dragged back.  What, then, is my proposal?  I ride to Bleakirk and out along the summit of Woeful Ness.  There I dismount, turn my pony loose, and, descending along the ridge, step into the sand that swallowed Lydia.  Simple, is it not? Excessi, evasi, evanui.  I shall be there before sunset—­which reminds me,” he added, pulling out his watch, “that my time is nearly up.  I regret to leave you in this plight, but you see how I am placed.  I felt, when I saw you, a sudden desire to unbosom myself of a secret which, until the past half-hour, I have shared with no man.  I see by your eyes again that if set at liberty you would interfere with my purpose.  It is unfortunate that scarcely a soul ever rides this way—­I know the road of old.  But to-morrow is Sunday:  I will scribble a line and fix it on the church-door at Bleakirk, so that the parish may at least know your predicament before twenty-four hours are out.  I must now be going.  The bandanna about your mouth I entreat you to accept as a memento.  With renewed apologies, sir, I wish you good-day; and count it extremely fortunate that you did not bleed.”