It was one of the bleakest spots along the coast--to the casual observer nothing but an arid waste of sands in the summer, a wilderness of desolation in the winter.

Only those who have dwelt in those parts are able to feel the fascination of that great empty land, a fascination potent enough, but of slow growth.

Mr.Moyat's remark was justified.
We drove into his stable yard and clambered down.
"You'll come in and have a bit of supper," Mr.Moyat insisted.
I hesitated.

I felt that it would be wiser to refuse, but I was cold and wet, and the thought of my fireless room depressed me.

So I was ushered into the long low dining-room, with its old hunting prints and black oak furniture, and, best of all, with its huge log fire.