gic moonlight, guided by the
sound of trampling hoofs in the building where Jack's horse was stabled.
He reached the doorway, treading softly, and looked in.

Dot was in a stall with his mount Rupert--a powerful grey, beside which
she looked even lighter and daintier than usual. The animal was nibbling
carelessly at her arm while she filled the manger with hay. She was
talking to him softly, and did not perceive Hill's presence. Robin, who
sat waiting near the entrance, merely pricked his ears at his approach.

Some minutes passed. Fletcher stood like a sentinel against the doorpost.
He might have been part of it for his immobility. The girl within
continued to talk to the horse while she provided for his comfort, low
words unintelligible to the silent watcher, till, as she finished her
task, she suddenly threw her arms about the animal's neck and leaned her
head against it.

"Oh, Rupert," she said, and there was a throb of passion in her words, "I
wish--I wish you and I could go right away into the wilderness together
and never--never come back!"

Rupert turned his head and actually licked her hair. He was a horse of
understanding.

She uttered a little sobbing laugh and tenderly kissed his nose. "You're
a dear, sympathetic boy! Who taught you to be, I wonder? Not your master,
I'm sure! He's nothing but a steel machine all through!"

And then she turned to leave the stable and came upon Fletcher Hill,
mutely awaiting her.

CHAPTER IV

THE COAT OF MAIL

She gave a great start at sight of him, then quickly drew herself
together.

"You have come to see if Rupert is all right for the night?" she said.
"Go in and have a look at him."

But Fletcher made no movement to enter. He faced her with a certain
rigidity. "No. I came to see you--alone."

She made a sharp movement that was almost a gesture of protest. Then she
turned and drew the door softly shut behind her. Robin came and pressed
close to her, as if he divined that she stood in need of some support.
With her back to the closed door and the moonlight in her eyes, she
stood before Fletcher Hill.

"What do you want to say to me?" she said.

He bent slightly towards her. "It is not a specially easy thing, Miss
Burton," he said, "when I am more than half convinced that it is
something you would rather not hear."

She met his look with unflinching steadiness. "I think life is made up of
that sort of thing," she said. "It's like a great puzzle tha