was still a change for the better even to be
capable of thinking at all. Was the behaviour
of his father compatible with innocence?
Could the old man's confused denial of his
own words in the morning and in the presence
of his son, be set for one instant against the
circumstantial confession that he had made
during the night, alone with his grandson?
These were the terrible questions which Gabriel
now asked himself; and which he shrank
involuntarily from answering. And yet that
doubt, the solution of which would one way
or the other irrevocably affect the whole
future of his life, must sooner or later be solved
at any hazard! There was but one way of
setting it at rest—to go instantly, while his
father was absent, and examine the hollow
place under "The Merchant's Table." If his
grandfather's confession had really been made
while he was in possession of his senses, this
place (which Gabriel knew to be covered in
from wind and weather) had never been
visited since the commission of the crime by
the perpetrator, or by his unwilling accomplice:
though time had destroyed all besides,
the hair and the bones of the victim would
still be left to bear witness to the truth—if
truth had indeed been spoken. As this
conviction grew on him, the young man's cheek
paled; and he stopped irresolute, half way
between the hearth and the door. Then he
looked down doubtfully at the corpse on the
bed; and then there came upon him, suddenly,
a revulsion of feeling. A wild feverish
impatience to know the worst without another
instant of delay possessed him. Only telling
Rose that he should be back soon, and that
she must watch by the dead in his absence, he
left the cottage at once, without waiting to
hear her reply, even without looking back as
he closed the door behind him.

There were two tracks to The Merchant's
Table. One, the longer of the two, by the
coast cliffs; the other across the heath. But
this latter path was also, for some little
distance, the path which led to the village
and the church. He was afraid of attracting
his father's attention here, so he took the
direction of the coast. At one spot, the track
trended inland, winding round some of the
many Druid monuments scattered over the
country. This place was on high ground,
and commanded a view, at no great distance,
of the path leading to the village, just where
it branched off from the heathy ridge which
ran in the direction of The Merchant's Table.
Here Gabriel described the figure of a man
standing with his back towards the coast.
This figure was too far off to be identified
with absolute certainty; but it looked
like, and might well be, François Sarzeau.
Whoever he was, the man was evidently
uncertain which way he should proceed. When he
moved forward it was first to advance several
paces towards The Merchant's Table—then
he went back again towards the distant
cottages and the church. Twice he hesitated
thus; the second time pausing long before
he appeared finally to take the way that led
to the village. Leaving the post of observation
among the stones, at which he had
instinctively halted for some minutes past,
Gabriel now proceeded in his own path.
Could this man really be his father? And if
it were so, why did François Sarzeau only
determine to go to ths village where his
business lay, after having twice vainly attempted
to persevere in taking the exactly opposite
direction of The Merchant's Table? Did he
really desire to go there? Had he heard the
name mentioned, when the old man referred
to it in his dying words? And had he failed
to summon courage enough to make all safe
by removing——? This last question was
too horrible to be pursued: Gabriel stifled it
affrightedly in his own heart, as he went on.

He reached the great Druid monument,
without meeting a living soul on his way.
The sun was rising, and the mighty storm-
clouds of the night were parting asunder
wildly over the whole eastward horizon. The
waves still leapt and foamed gloriously; but
the gale had sunk to a keen, fresh breeze. As
Gabriel looked up, and saw how brightly the
promise of a lovely day was written in the
heavens, he trembled as he thought of the
search which he was now about to make.
The sight of the fair fresh sunrise jarred
horribly with the suspicions of committed
murder that were rankling foully in his heart.
But he knew that his errand must be
performed, and he nerved himself to go through
with it; for he dared not return to the
cottage until the mystery had been cleared up
at once and for ever.

The Merchant's Table was formed by two
huge stones resting horizontally on three
others. In the troubled times of more than
half a century ago, regular tourists were
unknown among the Druid monuments of
Brittany; and the entrance to the hollow place
under the stones—since often visited by
strangers—was at this time nearly choked up
by brambles and weeds. Gabriel's first look
at this tangled nook of briars, convinced him
that the place had not been entered—perhaps
for years—by any living being. Without
allowing himself to hesitate (for he felt that
the slightest delay might be fatal to his
resolution) he passed as gently as possible through
the brambles, and knelt down at the low,
dusky, irregular entrance of the hollow place
under the stones.

His heart throbbed violently, his breath
almost failed him; but he forced himself to
crawl a few feet into the cavity, and then
groped with his hand on the ground about
him. He touched something! Something
which it made his flesh creep to handle;
something which he would fain have dropped,
but which he grasped tight in spite of
himself. He drew back into the outer air and
sunshine. Was it a human bone? No! he
had been the dupe of his own morbid terror