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and　when　the　tide　runs　out　it　leaves　glistening　mud　flats；　which　it　is　the　peculiar　taste　of　the　oyster　to　prefer　to　any　other　habitation。　For　years　Belpher　oysters　had　been　the　mainstay　of　gay　supper　parties　at　the　Savoy；　the　Carlton　and　Romano's。　Dukes　doted　on　them；　chorus　girls　wept　if　they　were　not　on　the　bill　of　fare。　And　then；　in　an　evil　hour；　somebody　discovered　that　what　made　the　Belpher　Oyster　so　particularly　plump　and　succulent　was　the　fact　that　it　breakfasted；　lunched　and　dined　almost　entirely　on　the　local　sewage。　There　is　but　a　thin　line　ever　between　popular　homage　and　execration。　We　see　it　in　the　case　of　politicians；　generals　and　prize…fighters；　and　oysters　are　no　exception　to　the　rule。　There　was　a　typhoid　scarequite　a　passing　and　unjustified　scare；　but　strong　enough　to　do　its　deadly　work；　and　almost　overnight　Belpher　passed　from　a　place　of　flourishing　industry　to　the　sleepy；　by…the…world…forgotten　spot　which　it　was　when　George　Bevan　discovered　it。　The　shallow　water　is　still　there；　the　mud　is　still　there；　even　the　oyster…beds　are　still　there；　but　not　the　oysters　nor　the　little　world　of　activity　which　had　sprung　up　around　them。　　The　glory　of　Belpher　is　dead；　and　over　its　gates　Ichabod　is　written。　But；　if　it　has　lost　in　importance；　it　has　gained　in　charm；　and　George；　for　one；　had　no　regrets。　To　him；　in　his　present　state　of　mental　upheaval；　Belpher　was　the　ideal　spot。
　It　was　not　at　first　that　George　roused　himself　to　the　point　of　asking　why　he　was　here　and　whatnow　that　he　was　herehe　proposed　to　do。　For　two　languorous　days　he　loafed；　sufficiently　occupied　with　his　thoughts。　He　smoked　long；　peaceful　pipes　in　the　stable…yard；　watching　the　ostlers　as　they　groomed　the　horses；　he　played　with　the　Inn　puppy；　bestowed　respectful　caresses　on　the　Inn　cat。　He　walked　down　the　quaint　cobbled　street　to　the　harbour；　sauntered　along　the　shore；　and　lay　on　his　back　on　the　little　beach　at　the　other　side　of　the　lagoon；　from　where　he　could　see　the　red　roofs　of　the　village；　while　the　imitation　waves　splashed　busily　on　the　stones；　trying　to　conceal　with　bustle　and　energy　the　fact　that　the　water　even　two　hundred　yards　from　the　shore　was　only　eighteen　inches　deep。　For　it　is　the　abiding　hope　of　Belpher　Creek　that　it　may　be　able　to　deceive　the　occasional　visitor　into　mistaking　it　for　the　open　sea。
　And　presently　the　tide　would　ebb。　The　waste　of　waters　became　a　sea　of　mud；　cheerfully　covered　as　to　much　of　its　surface　with　green　grasses。　The　evening　sun　struck　rainbow　colours　from　the　moist　softness。　Birds　sang　in　the　thickets。　And　George；　heaving　himself　up；　walked　back　to　the　friendly　cosiness　of　the　Marshmoreton　Arms。　And　the　remarkable　part　of　it　was　that　everything　seemed　perfectly　natural　and　sensible　to　him；　nor　had　he　any　particular　feeling　that　in　falling　in　love　with　Lady　Maud　Marsh　and　pursuing　her　to　Belpher　he　had　set　himself　anything　in　the　nature　of　a　hopeless　task。　Like　one　kissed　by　a　goddess　in　a　dream；　he　walked　on　air；　and；　while　one　is　walking　on　air；　it　is　easy　to　overlook　the　boulders　in　the　path。
　Consider　his　position；　you　faint…hearted　and　self…pitying　young　men　who　think　you　have　a　tough　row　to　hoe　just　because；　when　you　pay　your　evening　visit　with　the　pound　box　of　candy　under　your　arm；　you　see　the　handsome　sophomore　from　Yale　sitting　beside　her　on　the　porch；　playing　the　ukulele。　If　ever　the　world　has　turned　black　to　you　in　such　a　situation　and　the　moon　gone　in　behind　a　cloud；　think　of　George　Bevan　and　what　he　was　up　against。　You　are　at　least　on　the　spot。　You　can　at　least　put　up　a　fight。　If　there　are　ukuleles　in　the　world；　there　are　also　guitars；　and　tomorrow　it　may　be　you　and　not　he　who　sits　on　the　moonlit　porch；　it　may　be　he　and　not　you　who　arrives　late。　Who　knows？　　Tomorrow　he　may　not　show　up　till　you　have　finished　the　Bedouin's　Love　Song　and　are　annoying　the　local　birds；　roosting　in　the　trees；　with　Poor　Butterfly。
　What　I　mean　to　say　is；　you　are　on　the　map。　You　have　a　sporting　chance。　Whereas　George。。。　Well；　just　go　over　to　England　and　try　wooing　an　earl's　daughter　whom　you　have　only　met　onceand　then　without　an　introduction；　whose　brother's　hat　you　have　smashed　beyond　repair；　whose　family　wishes　her　to　marry　some　other　man：　who　wants　to　marry　some　other　man　herselfand　not　the　same　other　man；　but　another　other　man；　who　is　closely　immured　in　a　mediaeval　castle　。　。　。　Well；　all　I　say　istry　it。　And　then　go　back　to　your　porch　with　a　chastened　spirit　and　admit　that　you　might　be　a　whole　lot　worse　off。
　George；　as　I　say；　had　not　envisaged　the　peculiar　difficulties　of　his　position。　Nor　did　he　until　the　evening　of　his　second　day　at　the　Marshmoreton　Arms。　Until　then；　as　I　have　indicated；　he　roamed　in　a　golden　mist　of　dreamy　meditation　among　the　soothing　by…ways　of　the　village　of　Belpher。　But　after　lunch　on　the　second　day　it　came　upon　him　that　all　this　sort　of　thing　was　pleasant　but　not　practical。　Action　was　what　was　needed。　　Action。
　The　first；　the　obvious　move　was　to　locate　the　castle。　Inquiries　at　the　Marshmoreton　Arms　elicited　the　fact　that　it　was　〃a　step〃　up　the　road　that　ran　past　the　front　door　of　the　inn。　But　this　wasn't　the　day　of　the　week　when　the　general　public　was　admitted。　　The　sightseer　could　invade　Belpher　Castle　on　Thursdays　only；　between　the　hours　of　two　and　four。　On　other　days　of　the　week　all　he　could　do　was　to　stand　like　Moses　on　Pisgah　and　take　in　the　general　effect　from　a　distance。　As　this　was　all　that　George　had　hoped　to　be　able　to　do；　he　set　forth。
　It　speedily　became　evident　to　George　that　〃a　step〃　was　a　euphemism。　Five　miles　did　he　tramp　before；　trudging　wearily　up　a　winding　lane；　he　came　out　on　a　breeze…swept　hill…top；　and　saw　below　him；　nestling　in　its　trees；　what　was　now　for　him　the　centre　of　the　world。　He　sat　on　a　stone　wail　and　lit　a　pipe。　　Belpher　Castle。　Maud's　home。　There　it　was。　And　now　what？
　The　first　thought　that　came　to　him　was　practical；　even　prosaic　the　thought　that　he　couldn't　possibly　do　this　five…miles…there　and…five…miles…back　walk；　every　time　he　wanted　to　see　the　place。　He　must　shift　his　base　nearer　the　scene　of　operations。　One　of　those　trim；　thatched　cottages　down　there　in　the　valley　would　be　just　the　thing；　if　he　could　arrange　to　take　possession　of　it。　They　sat　there　all　round　the　castle；　singly　and　in　groups；　like　small　dogs　round　their　master。　They　looked　as　if　they　had　been　there　for　centuries。　Probably　they　had；　as　they　were　made　of　stone　as　solid　as　that　of　the　castle。　There　must　have　been　a　time；　thought　George；　when　the　castle　was　the　central　rallying…point　for　all　those　scattered　homes；　when　rumour　of　danger　from　marauders　had　sent　all　that　little　munity　scuttling　for　safety　to　the　sheltering　walls。
　For　the　first　time　since　he　had　set　out　on　his　expedition；　a　certain　chill；　a　disforting　sinking　of　the　heart；　afflicted　George　as　he　gazed　down　at　the　grim　grey　fortress　which　he　had　undertaken　to　storm。　So　must　have　felt　those　marauders　of　old　when　they　climbed　to　the　top　of　this　very　hill　to　spy　out　the　land。　And　George's　case　was　even　worse　than　theirs。　They　could　at　least　hope　that　a　strong　arm　and　a　stout　heart　would　carry　them　past　those　solid　walls；　they　had　not　to　think　of　social　etiquette。　Whereas　George　was　so　situated　that　an　unsympathetic　butler　could　put　him　to　rout　by　refusing　him　admittance。
　The　evening　was　drawing　in。　Already；　in　the　brief　time　he　had　spent　on　the　hill…top；　the　sky　had　turned　from　blue　to　saffron　and　from　saffron　to　grey。　The　plaintive　voices　of　homing　cows　floated　up　to　him　from　the　valley　below。　A　bat　had　left　its　shelter　and　was　wheeling　around　him；　a　sinister　blot　against　the　sky。　A　sickle　moon　gleamed　over　the　trees。　George　felt　cold。　　He　turned。　The　shadows　of　night　wrapped　him　round；　and　little　things　in　the　hedgerows　chirped　and　chittered　mockery　at　him　as　he　stumbled　down　the　lane。
　George's　request　for　a　lonely　furnished　cottage　somewhere　in　the　neighbourhood　of　the　castle　did　not；　as　he　had　feared；　strike　the　Belpher　house…agent　as　the　demand　of　a　lunatic。　Every　well…dressed　stranger　who　es　to　Belpher　is　automatically　set　down　by　the　natives　as　an　artist；　for　the　picturesqueness　of　the　place　has　caused　it　to　be　much　infested　by　the　brothers　and　sisters　of　the　brush。　In　asking　for　a　cottage；　indeed；　George　did　precisely　as　Belpher　society　expected　him　to　do；　and　the　agent　was　reaching　for　his　list　almost　before　the　words　were　out　of　his　mouth。　In　less　than　half　an　hour　George　was　out　in　the　street　again；　the　owner　for　the　season　of　what　the　agent　described　as　a　〃gem〃　and　the　employer　of　a　farmer's　wife　who　lived　near…by　and　would；　as　was　her　custom　with　artists；　e　in　the　morning　and　evening　to　〃do〃　for　him。　The　interview　would　have　taken　but　a　few　minutes；　had　it　not　been　prolonged　by　the　chattiness　of　the　agent　on　the　subject　of　the　occupants　of　the　castle；　to　which　George　listened　attentively。　He　was　not　greatly　encouraged　by　what　he　heard　of　Lord　Marshmoreton。　The　earl　had　made　himself　notably　unpopular　in　the　village　recently　by　his　firmthe　house…agent　said　〃pig…headed〃attitude　in　respect　to　a　certain　dispute　about　a　right…of…way。　It　was　Lady　Caroline；　and　not　the　easy…going　peer；　who　was　really　to　blame　in　the　matter；　but　the　impression　that　George　got　from　the　house…agent's　description　of　Lord　Marshmoreton　was　that　th