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“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 that never fits. I’ve been saying–unwelcome things–to-day, too.”

She smiled, but her lips were quivering. The man’s hands slowly clenched.

“That means you’re unhappy,” he said.

She nodded. “I’ve been telling Jack that I must get away–go and earn my own living somewhere. He won’t hear of it.”

“I can understand that,” said Fletcher Hill. “I wouldn’t–in his place.”

She kept her eyes steadfastly raised to his. “Do you know what Jack wants me to do?” she said.

“Yes.” Hill spoke briefly, almost sternly. “He wants you to marry me.”

She nodded again. “Yes.”

He held out his hand to her abruptly. “I want it, too,” he said.

She made no movement towards him. “That is what you came to say?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Hill.

He waited a moment; then, as she did not take his hand, bent with a certain mastery and took one of hers.

“I’ve wanted it for years,” he said.

“Ah!” A little sound like a sob came with the words. She made as if she would withdraw her hand, but in the end–because he held it closely–she suffered him to keep it. She spoke with an effort. “I–think you ought to understand that–that–it is not my wish to marry at all. If–if Jack had stayed single, I–should have been content to live on here for always.”

“Yes, I know,” said Hill. “I saw that.”

She went on tremulously. “I’ve always felt–that a woman ought to be able to manage alone. It’s very kind of you to want to marry me. But–but I–I think I’m getting too old.”

“Is that the only obstacle?” asked Hill.

She tried to laugh, but it ended in a sound of tears. She turned her face quickly aside. “I can’t tell you–of any other,” she said, with difficulty, “except–except–“

“Except that you don’t like me much?” he suggested dryly. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me.”

“Oh, I didn’t say that!” She choked back her tears and turned back to him. “Let’s walk a little way together, shall we? I–I’ll try and explain–just how I feel about things.”

He moved at once to comply. They walked side by side over the close-cropped grass. Dot would have slipped her hand free, but still he kept it.

They had traversed some yards before she spoke again, and then her voice was low and studiously even.