He made no comment upon it when he
finished reading, but sat, for a few minutes, with one hand shading his
eyes, and the other busily engaged in making some sort of a sketch on
the back of an old letter.
"What are you doing, Munro?" I asked, at last.
"You shall see presently," he answered, without looking up, or pausing
in his occupation.
At the expiration of a few minutes, he handed me over the paper, saying:
"Do you know anyone that resembles?"
I took the sketch, looked at it, and cried out incoherently in my
surprise.
"Well," he went on, "who is it?"
"The man who follows me! The man I saw in this lane!"
"And what is his name?"
"That is precisely what I desire to find out," I answered. "When did you
see him? How did you identify him? Why did--"
"I have something to tell you, if you will only be quiet, and let me
speak," he interrupted. "It was, as you know, late last night before I
left here, and for that reason, and also because I was perplexed and
troubled, I walked fast--faster than even is my wont. The road was very
lonely; I scarcely met a creature along the road, flooded with the
moonlight. I never was out on a lovelier night; I had never, even in the
country, felt I had it so entirely to myself.
"Every here and there I came within sight of the river, and it seemed,
on each occasion, as though a great mirror had been put up to make every
object on land--every house, every tree, bush, fern, more clearly
visible than it had been before.
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