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But Fletcher persistently shook his head.

“I am sorry–horribly sorry, but it would be downright madness to attempt it.”

“Nevertheless,” said Beryl very quietly, “I mean to do so.”

She saw his brows meet for a single instant, and she was conscious of a sick feeling at her heart that made her physically cold. Doubt was emerging into deadly conviction.

Suddenly he leaned towards her, and spoke very earnestly.

“Mrs. Denvers, please believe that I regret this mischance every whit as much as you do. But, after all, it is only a mischance, and we may be thankful it was no worse. Shall we not treat it as such, and make the best of it?”

He was looking her straight in the face as he said it, but, steady as was his gaze, she was not reassured. Quick as lightning came the thought–it was almost like an inner voice warning her–that he must not suspect the fact. Whatever happened she must veil her uneasiness, which she feared had been already far too obvious.

Quietly she rose and expressed her willingness to go with him into the shade of the trees.

They stood grouped on the side of a hill, a thick belt through which the scorching sun-rays slanted obliquely, turning the straight brown trunks to ruddiest gold. There was more air here than in the valley, and it was a relief to sit down in the shade and rest upon a fallen tree.

Fletcher threw himself down upon the ground. “We can watch the road from here,” he remarked. “We should see the dog-cart about a mile away.”

This was true. Barren, stony, and deserted, the road twisted in and out below them, visible from that elevation for a considerable distance. Beryl looked over it in silence. Her heart was beating in great suffocating throbs, while she strove to summon her resolution. Could she do this thing? Dared she? On the other hand, could she face the alternative risk? Her face burned fiercely yet again as she thought of it.

Furtively she began to study the man stretched out upon the ground close to her, and a sudden, surging regret went through her. If only it had been Lord Ronald lounging there beside her, how utterly different would have been her attitude! Foolish and inept he might be–he was–but, as he himself had comfortably remarked, a man might be worse. She trusted him implicitly, every one trusted him. It was impossible to do otherwise.

Had any one accused him of laying a trap for her, she would have treated the suggestion as too contemptible for notice. A sharp sigh escaped her. Why had he taken her so promptly at her word? He could never have seriously cared for her. Probably it was not in him to care.

“You are not comfortable?” said Fletcher.

She started at the sound of his voice, and with desperate impulse took action before her courage could fail her.

“Major Fletcher, I–have lost the bangle you gave me. It slipped off down by that big rock when I was feeling ill. And I must have left it there. Should you very much mind fetching it for me?”

She felt her face grow crimson as she made the request, and she could not look at him, knowing too well what he would think of her confusion. She felt, indeed, as if she could never look him in the face again.

Fletcher sat quite still for a few seconds. Then, “But it’s of no consequence, is it?” he said. “I will fetch it for you, of course, if you like, but I could give you fifty more like it. And in any case we can find it when Subdul comes with the dog-cart.”

He was reluctant to leave her. She saw it instantly, and tingled at the discovery. With a great effort she made her final attempt.

“Please,” she said, with downcast eyes, “I want it now.”

He was on his feet at once, looking down at her. “I will fetch it with the greatest pleasure,” he said.