Valentine Williams

“ At length we reached the narrow lane in which the shanty stood. It was almost dark; for the moon had gone in behind a bank of clouds and the day was not yet come.
The big wooden door stood wide. Across the little yard dimly we saw the dark outline of the shack. The mud surface of the court was wet and sticky and my rubber-soled shoes slipped on it as we crossed the threshold of the enclosure. John Bard touched my arm.
“Man alive,” he whispered, “look at your shoes!” ”

“ John Bard made as though to bolt. But I restrained him. I felt I must see this mysterious visitant. And John Bard, loyal friend as he is, though he had nothing to gain by my rashness, stopped dead in his tracks and with me drew behind the cover of the back door. Through the chink between door and jamb we surveyed the entrance to the shack.
A huge black shape stood on the threshold. It was too dark within the hut to note the newcomer's features or his dress. One had only the sensation of a great form that bulked largely, immensely, in the doorway. ”

“ A FOOTSTEP IN THE LANE
The moon had paled, and a greyness in the sky as we hurried down the hill betokened the approach of day. At length the city had sunk to rest; the port slumbered, and in the red-light quarter behind the docks the laughter and the guitars were stilled. How through that maze of mean streets and lanes I found the way back to Doña Luisa's cabin, I don't know; but I expect that a kind of instinct for marking a route once traversed, which, with me, is inborn, stood me in good stead. ”