Tregenna debated with himself whether he should run after the brigadier and put him on his guard. But a moment's reflection convinced him that a word of warning from a young man like himself would be received with resentment rather than with gratitude by the old soldier. After all, the soldiers were well armed, and were presumably prepared for emergencies.
So he turned his back on the village, and made his way over the cliffs to the creek where the gig was lying to take him to the cutter.
It was at the mouth of the little ravine down which Parson Langney and his daughter had gone on the preceding evening.
It was dark in this cleft between the sandstone hills, dark and cool, with a breeze that rushed through from the sea and whistled in the scrubby pines and through the arching
