Finally the man became angry, and jumped down and kicked the dog. Then he took it by the scruff of the neck and half-dragged and half-threw it onto a tombstone. The moment it touched the stone the poor thing became quiet and started trembling. It did not try to get away, but crouched down, quivering and cowering. The dog was so terrified that I felt sorry for it and I tried without success to comfort it. Lucy was full of pity, too, but she did not try to touch the dog, but looked at it in an agonised sort of way.

Same day, 11 pm. Oh, but I am tired! If I hadn't made my diary a duty I would not open it to-night. So that she would be too tired to sleep-walk, I took Lucy for a long stroll. We had a lovely walk. Lucy, after a while, was very cheerful. I think this was because of some dear cows who came to meet us in a field close to the lighthouse. At first they so frightened us that I believe we forgot everything except, of course, personal fear. That seemed to wipe the slate clean and give us a fresh start. We had an excellent tea at Robin Hood’s Bay in a sweet little old-fashioned inn, with a window right over the seaweed-covered rocks of the strand. Then we walked home with some, or rather many, stops to rest.