And Bryce's practised touch and eye knew that he was only just dead--and that he had died in his sleep.

Everything there pointed unmistakably to what had happened.

The man had eaten his frugal dinner, washed it down from his tin bottle, lighted his pipe, leaned back in the warm sunlight, dropped asleep--and died as quietly as a child taken from its play to its slumbers.
After one more careful look, Bryce turned and made through the trees to the path which crossed the old graveyard.

And there, going leisurely home to lunch, was Dick Bewery, who glanced at the young doctor inquisitively.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed with the freedom of youth towards something not much older.

"You there?
Anything on ?" Then he looked more clearly, seeing Bryce to be pale and excited.