detaining hands that seemed light as leaves upon her shoulder, and as
easily shaken off. Unhearing, unheeding, she forced her way into the
glare of electric light flooding the little room--beating down on to the
table and its sheeted burden. Before she reached it, knowledge had
dropped upon her like a mantle.

Her face was grey as the one from which she drew the merciful coverings,
but her eyes went fearlessly to that which she sought.

Against the rough tweed of the shoulder lay a long, corn-gold hair.

Young Cargill smiled as Mrs. Lardner finished her account.

"And do you really think that the fact that the poor chap was drowned
had anything to do with it?" he asked. "Why, you admit yourself that he
was known to have been drinking just before he fell out of his boat!"

"You may say what you like," returned his hostess impressively, "but
since first we came to live at Tryn yr Wylfa only four people besides
poor Roberts have defied the Fates, and each of them was drowned within
the year."

They were all tourists," she added with something suspiciously like
satisfaction.
"I am not a superstitious man myself," supplemented the Major. "But you
can't get away from the facts, you know, Cargill."

Cargill said no more. He perceived that they had lived long enough in
retirement in the little Welsh village to have acquired a pride in its
legend.

The legend and the mountains are the two attractions of Tryn yr
Wylfa--the official guidebook devotes an equal amount of space to each.
It will tell you that the bay, across which the quarry's tramp steamers
now sail, was once dry land on which stood a village. Deep in the water
the remains of this village can still be seen in clear weather. But
whosoever dares to look upon them will be drowned within the year. A
local publication gives full details of those who have looked--and
perished.

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