Descending the stairs, her pale, pensive glance rested on the locket flashing on its chain over the scarlet heart sewn on her breast. Somehow, at thought of Hallam waiting for her below, she halted on the stairway, one finger twisted in the gold chain. And presently the thought of Hallam reminded her of the trooper and the hot dinner she had promised the poor fellow. Had the cook been kind to him? She hastened downstairs, passed the closed door of the improvised dining-room, traversed the hall to the porch, and, lifting the skirts of her gray garb, sped across the frozen yards to the kitchen. The cook had gone; fire smouldered in the range; and a single candle guttered in its tin cup on the table. Beside it, seated on a stool, elbows planted on both knees, face buried in his spread fingers, sat the lancer, apparently asleep. She cast a rapid glance at the table. The remains of the food satisfied her that he had had his hot dinner. Once more she glanced at him, and then started to withdraw on tiptoe. And he raised his head; and she gazed into the face of Berkley. Neither stirred, although in the shock of discovery she felt that she would drop where she stood. Then, instinctively, she reached for the table's edge, rested against it, hand clutching it, fascinated eyes never leaving his face. He got up leisurely, walked toward her, made an abrupt turn and faced her again from the window recess, leaning back against the closed wooden shutters. Her heart was beating too rapidly for her to speak; she tried to straighten her shoulders, lift her head. Both sank, and she looked down blindly through the throbbing silence. Berkley spoke first; but she could not answer him. Then he said, again, lightly: "A woman's contempt is a bitter thing; but they say we thrive best on bitter medicine. Do you wish me to go, Ailsa? If so, where? I'll obey with alacrity." She raised her dazed eyes. "W-was that _you_, with Captain Hallam's horse--there in the starlight--when I spoke?" "Yes. Didn't you know me?" "No. Did you know _me_?" "Of course. I nearly fell out of my saddle." She strove hard to collect herself. "How did you know it was I?" "How?" He laughed a short, mirthless laugh. "I knew your voice. Why shouldn't I know it?" "Did--had anybody told you I was here?" "No. Who is there to tell me anything?" "Nobody wrote you?--or telegraphed?" He laughed again. "Nobody has my address." "And you never--received--receive--letters?" "Who would write to me? No, I never receive letters. Why do you ask?" She was silent. He waited a moment, then said coolly: "If you actually have any interest in what I'm doing--" and broke off with a shrug. At which she raised her eyes, waiting for him to go on.