"You must make my peace with George Godolphin," said Harry, bending down to Dona, flicking his boots with his whip. "He won't understand it, you know, my tearing off in this way."

"Leave everything to me," she answered, "I shall know what to say."

"I still don't know why you won't come with us," he said, staring at her, "but we'll be waiting for you, tomorrow evening, at Okehampton. When we pass through Heldston today I will order your chaise for the morning."

"Thank you, Harry."

He went on flicking the toe of his boot. "Stand still, will you, you brute?" he said to his horse; and then to Dona, "I believe you've still got that damned fever on you, and you won't admit it."

"No," she said, "I have no fever."

"Your eyes are strange," he said; "they looked different to me the first moment I saw you, lying in bed there, up in your room. The expression has changed. God damn it, I don't know what it is."

"I told you this morning," she said, "I'm getting older, and shall be thirty in three weeks' time. It's my age you can see in my eyes."

"Damn it, it's not," he said. "Ah, well, I suppose I'm a fool and a blockhead, and will have to spend the rest of my days wondering what the hell has happened to you."

"I rather think you will, Harry," she said.

Then he waved his whip, and wheeled his horse about, and cantered away down the drive, while the carriage followed soberly, the two children smiling from the window and blowing kisses, until they turned the corner of the avenue and could see her no more.

Dona went through the empty dining-hall and into the garden. It seemed to her that the house already had a strange, deserted appearance, as though it knew in its old bones that soon the covers would be placed upon the chairs, and the shutters drawn, and the doors bolted, and nothing would be there any longer but its own secret darkness: no sunshine, no voices, no laughter, only the quiet memories of the things that had been.

Here, beneath this tree, she had lain on her back in the sun and watched the butterflies, and Godolphin had called upon her for the first time, surprising her with her ringlets in disorder and the flowers behind her ears. And in the woods there had been bluebells, where there were bluebells no more, and the bracken had been young which was now waist-high and darkly green. So much loveliness, swiftly come and swiftly gone, and she knew in her heart that this was the last time of looking upon it all, and that she would never come to Navron again. Part of her would linger there for ever: a footstep running tiptoe to the creek, the touch of her hand on a tree, the imprint of her body in the long grass. And perhaps one day, in after years, someone would wander there and listen to the silence, as she had done, and catch the whisper of the dreams that she had dreamt there, in midsummer, under the hot sun and the white sky.

Then she turned her back on the garden, and calling to the stable-boy in the courtyard she bade him catch the cob who was in the meadow, and put a saddle on him, for she was going riding.

CHAPTER XXII

When Dona came to Gweek she made straight for a little cottage almost buried in the woods, a hundred yards or so from the road, and which she knew instinctively to be the place she sought. Passing there once before she had seen a woman at the doorway, young and pretty, and William, driving the carriage, had saluted her with his whip.

"There have been ugly rumours," Godolphin had said, "of young women in distress," and Dona smiled to herself, thinking of the girl's blush as she remembered it, and William's expression, his gallant bow, little guessing that his mistress had observed him.

The cottage appeared deserted, and Dona, dismounting, and knocking on the door, wondered for one moment if she had been mistaken after all. Then she heard a movement from the scrap of garden at the back, and she caught the glimpse of a petticoat disappearing into a door, and that door suddenly shutting, and the bolt being drawn. She knocked gently, and getting no answer called, "Don't be afraid. It is Lady St. Columb from Navron."

In a minute or two the bolt was pulled back, and the door was opened, and on the threshold stood William himself, with the flushed face of the young woman peering behind his shoulder.

"My lady," he said, staring at her, with his button mouth twisted. She feared for one moment he was going to break down and cry. Then he stiffened, and held the door open wide. "Run upstairs, Grace," he said to the girl, "her ladyship wishes to speak to me alone."

The girl obeyed him, and Dona preceded William into the little kitchen, and sat down by the low hearth, and looked at him.

He still wore his right arm in a sling, and his head was bandaged, but he was the same William, standing before her as though he awaited her instructions for the ordering of supper.

"Prue gave me your message, William," she said, and because he stood there so stiffly, without expression, she smiled at him with understanding. He said humbly, his eyes downcast, "My lady, what can I say to you? I would have died for you that night, and instead I proved false, and lay like a sick child on the floor of the nursery."

"You could not help it," she said. "You were weak and faint from loss of blood, and your prisoner proved too swift and cunning for you. But I have not come to talk about that, William."

For a moment his eyes entreated her, but she shook her head. "No questions," she said, "for I know what you would ask me. I am well, and strong, and quite unhurt, and what happened that night does not concern you. It is all over and put aside. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lady, since you insist."

"Sir Harry and Prue and the children left Navron just after noon today. The only thing that matters now is that we help your master. You know what happened?"

"I know, my lady, that the ship was lucky enough to escape with the crew safe aboard, but that my master lies a prisoner in the care of Lord Godolphin."

"And time is short, William, for his lordship and the others may take the law into their own hands, and do what they would do to him - before the escort comes from Bristol. We may have a few hours only, and therefore we must work tonight."

She made him sit down on the stool beside the hearth, and she showed the pistol she had secreted in her habit, and the knife as well. "The pistol is loaded," she said, "and when I leave you now, I shall proceed to his lordship's, and somehow gain admittance to the keep. It should not prove difficult, for his lordship is a fool."

"And then, my lady?" he asked.

"And then I shall assume that your master already has a plan prepared, and we will act upon it. He will realise the desperate importance of time, and may wish us to have horses waiting, at an hour to be decided upon."

"That should not prove impossible, my lady. There are ways and means of procuring horses."

"I can believe it, William."

"The young woman who is giving me hospitality…"

"A very charming young woman, William."

"Your ladyship is gracious. The young woman who is giving me hospitality may prove helpful over the matter of horses. You can safely leave the matter in my hands."

"And the young woman, also, as I did, Prue, when I went away with your master."

"My lady, I declare to you most solemnly that I never touched a hair of Prue's head."

"Probably not, William, we will not discuss it. Very well, then. The first move in the game is understood. I shall return here, after my visit to Lord Godolphin, and tell you what has been arranged."

"Very good, my lady."

He opened the door for her, and she stood a moment, smiling at him, before she passed into the little overgrown garden.