the roads he travelled.
The last signpost he had passed, however, had given him his cue again,
and he began to feel something of security. Confound the rain! The best
road was slippery with it, and the haze of it made a man's mind feel
befogged and lowered his spirits horribly--discouraged him--would worry
him into an ill humour even if he had reason to be in a good one. As for
him, he had no reason for cheerfulness--he never had for the matter
of that, and just now----! What was the matter with his horse? He was
lifting his head and sniffing the damp air restlessly, as if he
scented or saw something. Beasts often seemed to have a sort of second
sight--horses particularly.

What ailed him that he should prick up his ears and snort after his
sniffing the mist! Did he hear anything? Yes, he did, it seemed. He gave
forth suddenly a loud shrill whinny, turning his head towards a rough
lane they were approaching, and immediately from the vicinity of
a deserted-looking cottage behind a hedge came a sharp but
mournful-sounding neigh in answer.

"What horse is that?" said Nigel Anstruthers, drawing in at the
entrance to the lane and looking down it. "There is a fine brute with a
side-saddle on," he added sharply. "He is waiting for someone. What is a
woman doing there at this time? Is it a rendezvous? A good place----"

He broke off short and rode forward. "I'm hanged if it is not Childe
Harold," he broke out, and he had no sooner assured himself of the fact
than he threw himself from his saddle, tethered his horse and strode up
the path to the broken-hinged door.

He stood on the threshold and stared. What a hole it was--what a hole!
And there SHE sat--alone--eighteen or twenty miles from home--on a
turned-up box near the black embers, her hands clasped loosely between
her knees, her face rather awful, her eyes staring at the floor, as if
she did not see it.

"Where is he now?" he heard her whisper to herself with soft weirdness.
"Where is he now?"

Sir Nigel stepped into the place and stood before her. He had smiled
with a wry unpleasantness when he had heard her evidently unconscious
words.

"My good girl," he said, "I am sure I do not know where he is--but it
is very evident that he ought to be here, since you have amiably put
yourself to such trouble. It is fortunate for you perhaps that I am here
before him. What does this mean?" the question breaking from him with
savage authority.

He had dragged her back to