on me, sparkling with mischief, and Mrs. Senter critical.

I forgot to tell you that the Tyndals left us at Bideford, having no
excuse to cling, even if they wanted to, because they had "done" Exmoor
already; but since the evening when Mrs. Tyndal tried to pump me about
Venice, dear Gwendolen has been restless and suspicious. She can't
suspect the truth, of course, unless Dick has told her, which I'm sure
he hasn't (for his own sake), but she suspects something. She has a
common enough mind to spring to some horrid conclusion, such as my
having been secretly in Venice with objectionable people. Perhaps she
thinks me privately married! I'm sure she'd be delighted if that were
the truth, because then Dick and Sir Lionel would both be safe.

As we walked, Dick kept trying to get me far enough away from the others
to tell me some news, which he hurriedly whispered was important. But
even if I'd wanted to give him a chance, which I didn't, fate would have
denied it to him.

At Rockford Inn we took to the motor again, finding Emily limp after
what she considered appalling hills; but I'm sure they were nothing to
the Lynton-Lynmouth one, as this time Apollo himself had been sent down
in the big lift.

Now we were coming to Doone-land; and I was all eagerness to see it,
because of "Lorna Doone," and because of things I'd heard from Sir
Lionel, as we walked side by side for a few minutes after Watersmeet. I
had supposed that if there were any foundation for the Doone story, it
was as slight as the "fabric of a dream"; but he told me of a pamphlet
he had read, "A Short History of the Original Doones," by a Miss Ida or
Audrie Browne, only about eight or nine years ago. She said it was
extraordinary how well the author of "Lorna" had known all the
traditions of her family--for she was one of the Doones; and that there
really was a Sir Ensor, a wild rebellious son of an Earl of Moray, who
travelled with his wife to Exmoor, and settled there, in a rage because
the king would give him no redress against his elder brother.

"How does she spell her name of Audrie?" I asked, trying to look more
good and innocent than Eve could possibly have been even in
pre-serpentine days.

"A-u-d-r-i-e," he answered, and I trusted that Dick was too far behind
to hear what we were saying. "That was the favourite name for girls in
the Doone family," Sir Lionel went on. "Miss Browne thinks Sir Ensor and
his wife must have crossed the Quantocks comin