In the afternoon, as the short winter day began to draw in, having read and lightly slept, her young blood roused her to activity again. She would go and see Mollie, and persuade her to come back to tea with her, so that they could talk confidentially together. Or if she had to stay to tea at Stone Cottage, because of Mrs. Walter, perhaps Mollie would come back with her afterwards. She put on her coat and hat, and went out as the dusk was falling over the quiet spaces of the park. As she neared the gates she heard the trot of a horse on the road outside, and wondered if it was her father who was coming home. She had forgotten her wish that he would do so, as it had seemed so little likely of fulfilment, but made up her mind to go back with him if it should happily be he. It was a man, who passed the gates at a sharp trot, not turning his head to look inside them. The light was not too far gone for her to recognise, with a start of surprise, the horsemanlike figure of Bertie Pemberton, whom she had imagined many miles away. The hunt had set directly away from Abington, and was not likely to have worked back so far in this direction. Nor could Abington conceivably be on Bertie's homeward road, even supposing him so far to have departed from his usual habits as to have taken it before the end of the day. What was he doing here? She thought she knew, and walked on down the road to the village at a slightly faster pace, with a keen sense of pleasure and excitement at her breast. She saw him come out of the stable of the inn, on foot, and walk up the village street at the head of which stood Stone Cottage, at a pace faster than her own. Then she turned and went back, smiling to herself, but a little melancholy too. She was not so happy as Mollie was likely to be in a very short time. CHAPTER XXIII BERTIE AND MOLLIE