THE BOON Someone was mounting the steep cliff-path that led to Rufus's cottage--a man, square-built and powerful, who carried a burden.

The moon shone dimly upon his progress through a veil of drifting cloud.

He was streaming with water at every step, but he moved as if his drenched clothing were in no way a hindrance--steadily, strongly, with stubborn fixity of purpose.

The burden he carried hung limply in his arms, and over his shoulder there drifted a heavy mass of wet, black hair.
He came at length on his firm, bare feet to the little gate that led to the lonely cottage, and, without pausing, passed through.

The cottage door was ajar.