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“I don't know.” After a moment's hesitation she said, so that Power could hear: “This man will give me a lodging. Good night.”

The horse and cart started off again, Pamela walking one side and the farmer the other. After a minute or two, Power turned the horses and soon overtook them.

“Who are you?” he called to the trudging figure nearest him.

“Mason’s my name.”

“Mason? . . . Oh, I know your place. All right. I’ll have to put up too and see to the chestnut—he’s lame.”

Power drove on ahead and was waiting in the little wooden porch when Pamela arrived with her silent host. She walked straight past him without a word, and immediately disappeared into the queer little room given over to her, leaving Power to make what explanations he chose. Waking at sunrise, after an almost sleepless night, she wrote a line to Uncle Markham, asking him to drive over for her. This was despatched in charge of one of the small Masons. Pamela asked for breakfast in her own room, and an hour or so later heard her uncle’s voice outside her window. Power was speaking to him as she came out. She said quietly, “I am quite ready to start, Uncle Markham. Did you bring my purse?”

“Yes; but Alick will settle———”

“I’d rather do this, please.” She handed Mrs. Mason a coin, apologising for the trouble she had given. Then they were off, leaving Power behind. Uncle Markham said, after a moment, “I was worried about you, child. Alick tells me Selim went lame, but it would have been better to come home, all the same—and more comfortable for you.”

She opened her lips to speak, but the words refused to be uttered. How could she explain to Uncle Markham?