to the outer door.

But none came. More than an hour passed. It had long been perfectly
dark. What could have happened? Had the poor creature been dogged and
waylaid by those two policemen after all? Was it possible that they had
seen us standing together at the stile, where she had so inconsiderately
joined me for a moment? At last I became so nervous that I went to the
outer door, opened it softly, and looked out. She was so near me that I
very nearly screamed.

"How long have you been here?" I whispered.

"Close on an hour."

"Why didn't you tap on the window or something? I was waiting to let you
in."

"I dared not do that. It might have been the kitchen window for all I
knew, and then your servant would have seen me."

"But the kitchen is the other side."

"Indeed! And where is the stable?"

"At the bottom of the garden, away from the road."

"How are we going to get to it?"

"We can only get to it through the garden, now the back way is closed. I
closed it because the village children----"

"Had not you better shut the door? If any one passed down the road, they
would see it was open."

"It's as dark as pitch."

"Yes, but there's a little light from within. I can see you from outside
quite plainly standing in the doorway."

I led her indoors, and locked and bolted the door.

"What is this room?"

"The houseplace. I have my meals here. I live very primitively. My idea
is----"

"Then your servant may come in at any moment to lay your supper."

I could not say that she seemed nervous or frightened, but the way she
cut me short showed that she was so in reality. I was not offended, for
I am the first to make allowance when rudeness is not intentional. I led
the way hastily into the parlour.

"She never comes in here," I said reassuringly, "after she has once
brought in the lamp. I am supposed to be working, and must not be
disturbed."

"I'm not fit to come in," she said.

And in truth she was not. She was caked with mud and dirt from head to
foot, an appalling figure in the lamplight. The rain dripped from her
hair, her sinister clothing, her whole person. She looked as if she must
have hidden in a wet ditch. I gazed horror-struck at my speckless
matting and pale Oriental rugs. I had never allowed a child or dog in
the house for fear of the matting, except of course my poor Lindo, who
had died a few months previously, and whom I had taught to wipe his feet
on the mat.

A ghost of a smile