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“I was so happy!” she whispered. “I didn’t want him here–to spoil my paradise.”

Rivington said nothing. She did not even know if he heard; and if he were aware of her tears he gave no sign. He was gently bathing her torn feet with his hands.

XII

THE KNIGHT ERRANT PLAYS THE GAME

She began to command herself at last, and to be inexpressibly ashamed of her weakness. She sat in silence, accepting his ministrations, till Rivington proceeded to tear his handkerchief into strips for bandaging purposes; then she put out a protesting hand.

“You–you shouldn’t!” she said rather tremulously.

He looked at her with his kindly smile.

“It’s all right, Chirpy. I’ve got another.”

She tried to laugh. It was a valiant effort.

“I know I’m a horrid nuisance to you. It’s nice of you to pretend you don’t mind.”

“I never pretend,” said Rivington, with a touch of grimness. “Do you think you will be able to get your stocking over that?”

“I think so.”

“Try!” he said.

She tried and succeeded.

“That’s better,” said Rivington. “Now for the shoes. I can put them on.”

“I don’t like you to,” she murmured.

“Knights errant always do that,” he assured her. “It’s part of the game. Come! That’s splendid! How does it feel?”

“I think I can bear it,” she said, under her breath.

He drew it instantly off again.

“No, you can’t. Or, at least, you are not going to. Look here, Chirpy, my dear, I think you must let me carry you, anyhow to the caravan. It isn’t far, and I can fetch you some slippers from the mill from there. What? You don’t mind, do you? An old friend like me, and a poor relation into the bargain?” The blue eyes smiled at her quizzically, and very persuasively.

But her white face crimsoned, and she turned it aside.

“I don’t want you to,” she said piteously.

“No, but you’ll put up with it!” he urged. “It’s too small a thing to argue about, and you have too much sense to refuse.”

He rose with the words. She looked up at him with quivering lips.

“You wouldn’t do it–if I refused?” she faltered.

The smile went out of his eyes.

“I shall never do anything against your will,” he said. “But I don’t know how you will get back if I don’t.”

She pondered this for a moment, then, impulsively as a child, stretched up her arms to him.

“All right, Knight Errant. You may,” she said.

And he bent and lifted her without further words.

They scarcely spoke during that journey. Only once, towards the end of it, Ernestine asked him if he were tired, and he scouted the idea with a laugh.

When they reached the caravan, and he set her down upon the step, she thanked him meekly.

“We will have tea,” said Rivington, and proceeded to forage for the necessaries for this meal in a locker inside the caravan.

He brought out a spirit-lamp and boiled some water. The actual making of the tea he relegated to Ernestine.

“A woman does it better than a man,” he said.

And while she was thus occupied, he produced cups and saucers, and a tin of biscuits, and laid the cloth. Finally, he seated himself on the grass below her, and began with evident enjoyment to partake with her of the meal thus provided.

When it was over, he washed up, she drying the cups and saucers, and striving with somewhat doubtful success to appear normal and unconstrained.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, at the end of this.

“Of course not,” she answered, and he brought out the briar pipe forthwith.

She watched him fill and light it, her chin upon her hand. She was still very pale, and the fear had not gone wholly from her eyes.

“Now I’m going to talk to you,” Rivington announced.

“Yes?” she said rather faintly.

He lay back with his arms under his head, and stared up through the beech boughs to the cloudless evening sky.

“I want you first of all to remember,” he said, “that what I said a little while ago I meant–and shall mean for all time. I will never do anything, Chirpy, against your will.”