'Ah, well! Not so far as Lyme. You may set me down short of it. I will walk thence. I rather like shingles. Indeed, I prefer them.'
After he had been on the water for a while, Mr. Holwood said, 'Put me down at the dip of the cliffs by Rousdon.'
'You know the coast, sir?'
'Ah!—hem!—Yes, I have studied a map. When you have set me on shore, row back and await me at the mouth of the Axe opposite the Chesil Ridge. Then carry me across. I do not choose to make use of the ferry.'
'Very well, sir.'
The row was comparatively short, and Mr. Holwood stepped ashore at a pretty piece of wooded undercliff, where it dipped and allowed a path to descend to the beach.
'I will pay you on the Chesil Bank, at my return,' said Mr. Holwood, and the boatman touched his cap and turned.
When the man was at a distance, Mr. Holwood, who had watched his departure, looked around him, and took a few steps along the strand.
All was much as it had been years agone, save that then the shrubs, the trees, the herbage had been thrilling with life, and now life had ebbed away, leaves were fallen and strewed the ground, and the grass was grey and sapless.