em, he
was surely Gervase Henshaw. Gifford had seen him some two hours earlier,
and now recognized his grey suit and dark felt hat. He stayed, crouched
down, looking after the amazing pair, seeking a sign that the man was
not Henshaw. After all, it was, he told himself, more likely that he had
made a mistake than that Miss Morriston could be strolling in
confidential talk (for such seemed the case) with that fellow. It was too
astounding for belief.

They had stopped now, at the end of the ride; the man talking earnestly,
it seemed; Miss Morriston standing with head bent down and scoring the
grass with her walking-stick as though in doubt or consideration. Would
they turn and put the man's identity beyond uncertainty?

Gifford had not long to wait. Miss Morriston seemed to draw off and began
to walk back down the ride; her companion turned and promptly put himself
by her side. There was no doubt now as to who he was. Gervase Henshaw.

As one glance, now that the face was revealed, proved that, Gifford drew
back quickly and hurried deeper into the thick wood fearful lest his
footsteps should be heard. When he had gone a safe distance an intense
curiosity made him halt and turn. From his place of hiding he could just
see the light of the ride along which the couple would pass. He hated
the idea of spying upon Edith Morriston; after all, if she chose to walk
and talk with this man it was no business of his; but a supreme distrust
of Henshaw, unreasonable enough, perhaps, but none the less keen, made
him suspicious that the man might be playing some cowardly game, might
have drawn the girl to him by unfair means. Otherwise it was surely
inconceivable that she should have consented--condescended indeed--to
meet him in that clandestine manner.

As Gifford stayed, hesitating between a breach of good form and a
legitimate desire to learn whether the girl was being subjected to
unfair treatment, the sound of Henshaw's rather penetrating voice came
into earshot, and a few seconds later they passed across the line of
Gifford's sight.

He could catch but a glimpse of them through the intervening trees as
they went by slowly, but it was enough to tell him that Henshaw was
talking earnestly, arguing, it seemed, and on Edith Morriston's clear-cut
face was a look of trouble which was not good to see. It made Gifford
flush with anger to think that this lovely high-bred girl was being
worried, probably being made love to, by a man o