“Twenty-one years, sir.  I left his Grace to go to Lord Chelsford, who found me some work in London.”

“Secret service work, wasn’t it, Grooton?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Interesting?”

“Some parts of it very interesting, sir.”

I nodded and drank my coffee.  Grooton was watching me with an air of respectful interest.

“You will pardon my remarking it, sir, but I hope you will try and get some sleep during the day.  You are very pale this morning, sir.”

I looked at the glass, and was startled at my own reflection.  This was only my third day, and the responsibilities of my work were heavy upon me.  My cheeks were sunken and there were black rings around my eyes.

“I will lie down when I come back, Grooton,” I answered.

Outside, the fresh morning wind came like a sudden sweet tonic to my jaded nerves.  I paused for a moment to face bareheaded the rush of it from the sea.  As I stood there, drinking it in, I became suddenly aware of light approaching footsteps.  Some one was coming towards the cottage from the Park.

I did not immediately turn my head, but every nerve in my body seemed to stiffen into quivering curiosity.

The pathway was a private one leading from the house only to the “Brand,” and down the cliff to Braster.  It was barely seven o’clock, and the footsteps were no labouring man’s.  I think that I knew very well who it was that came so softly down the cone-strewn path.

We faced one another with little of the mask of surprise.  She came like a shadow, flitting between the slender tree trunks out into the sunshine, where for a moment she seemed wan and white.  Her dark eyes flashed a greeting at me.  I stood cap in hand before her.  It was the first time we had met since I had taken up my abode at the “Brand.”

“Good-morning, Mr. Ducaine,” she said.  “You need not look at me as though I were a ghost.  I always walk before breakfast in the country.”

“There is no better time,” I answered.

“You look as though you had been up all night,” she remarked.

“I had work to finish,” I told her.

She nodded.

“So you would have none of my advice, Mr. Secretary,” she said softly, coming a little nearer to me.  “You are already installed.”

“Already at work,” I asserted.

She glanced towards the “Brand.”

“I hope that you are comfortable,” she said.  “A couple of hours is short notice in which to make a place habitable.”

“Grooton is a magician,” I told her.  “He has arranged everything.”

“He is a wonderful servant,” she said thoughtfully.

A white-winged bird floated over our heads and drifted away skywards.  She followed it with her eyes.

“You wonder at seeing me so early,” she murmured.  “Don’t you think that it is worth while?  Nothing ever seems so sweet as this first morning breeze.”