musttrytoearnyourbetteropinion。
Hamelreadsteadilyfortheremainderofthemorning。Itwaspastoneo’clockwhenherosestifflyfromhisseatamongthesandknollsand，strollingbacktotheTower，openedthedoorandentered。Theclothwaslaidforluncheoninthelittlesitting-room，buttherewerenosignsofHannahCox。Hepassedonintothekitchenandcametoasuddenstandstill。Oncemorethememoryofhisownworkpassedawayfromhim。Oncemorehewasbackagainamongthatqueer，cloudedtangleofstrangesuspicions，ofthrilling，half-formedfears，whichhadassailedhimattimeseversincehisarrivalatSt，David’s。Hestoppedquiteshort。Thewordswhichrosetohislipsdiedaway。Hefeltthebreathless，compellingneedforsilenceandgrewtenseintheefforttomakenosound。
HannahCoxwaskneelingonthestonefloor。Herearwasclosetothecrackofthedoorwhichledintotheboat-house。Herface，halfturnedfromit，wassetinastrange，concentratedpassionoflistening；herlipswereparted，hereyeshalfclosed。ShetooknomorenoticeofHamelorhisarrivalthanifhehadbeensomeuselesspieceoffurniture。Everyfacultyseemedtobeabsorbedinthatoneintenseeffortoflistening。Therewasnoneedofherout-stretchedfinger。Hamelfellinatoncewithamoodsomesmeric。
He，too，listened。Thesmallclockwhichshehadbroughtwithherfromthevillagetickedawayuponthemantelpiece。Thefullseafellwithplacidsoftnessuponthehighbeachoutside。Someslightnoiseofcookingcamefromthestove。Saveforthesethingstherewassilence。Yet，foraspaceoftimewhichHamelcouldneverhavemeasured，theybothlistened。Whenatlastthewomanrosetoherfeet，Hamel，findingwordsatlast，wassurprisedtofindthathisthroatwasdry。
“Whatisit，Mrs。Cox？“heasked。“Whywereyoulisteningthere？“