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Presently, in one of his stealthy glances, the Doctor’s eye encountered that of the stranger, who was by this time drinking his tea — a thin and feminine liquor little used in that room.

The stranger did not seem put out; and the Doctor, interpreting his look as a permission to converse, cleared his voice, and said urbanely,

“We have had a little frost by night, down here, sir, and a little fire is no great harm — it is rather pleasant, don’t you think?”

The stranger bowed acquiescence with a transient wintry smile, and looked gratefully on the fire.

“This place is a good deal admired, sir, and people come a good way to see it; you have been here perhaps before?”

“Many years ago.”

Here was another pause.

“Places change imperceptibly — in detail, at least — a good deal,” said the Doctor, making an effort to keep up a conversation that plainly would not go on of itself; “and people too; population shifts — there’s an old fellow, sir, they call Death.”

“And an old fellow they call the Doctor, that helps him,” threw in the Captain humorously, allowing his attention to get entangled in the conversation, and treating them to one of his tempestuous ha-ha-ha’s.