"His eyes seem as if he was looking all the time for something he has lost," she thought, repeating her former musings; "perhaps, if he is Lady Cicely's cousin, I may see him again some day. I wonder what his name is--besides Rupert? I only heard him called Rupert." She leant back in her chair, her book still upon her knee, her eyes seeing many pictures in the coals--pictures in which a man with a rugged face, and kind grey eyes, seemed to be continually walking beside a tall lady with a beautiful white face, and eyes of unfathomable sadness and mystery, until the pictures merged themselves into dreams, and Christina slept peacefully. A loud knocking at the door startled her into wakefulness, and jumping to her feet, she confronted Mrs. Nairne, who looked at her with injured amusement. "Been asleep by the fire, missy, I suppose. I couldn't make you hear nohow, knock as I might. There's a gentleman in a motor-car at the door, wanting to speak to you all in a hurry." "A gentleman--in a motor--wanting _me_?" Christina asked, feeling that she must still be in the world of dreams. "Well, he said he wanted to speak to the young lady who was staying here, with the little girl," Mrs. Nairne answered, and Christina, a faint hope stirring at her heart that Lady Cicely's cousin might have come to ask her about Baba, went quickly to the farmhouse door, to be greeted by Dr. Fergusson, who awaited her with obvious impatience. "I came to see if I could get some help from you," he said, with no other preamble. "I have been to the house in the valley, and things there are pretty bad." "But--how can I help?" Christina asked. "I want you to come back with me to the house, and stay there for the night, with the lady of whom you told me to-day." "I could not do that," Christina answered decidedly; "it is out of the question. I am here in charge of a little child. I could not go away for the night, and leave her." "Wouldn't she be safe with the woman of the house?" Fergusson asked imperiously; "she looked to me a very reliable body." Although they were alone at the door, he and Christina spoke in low voices; perhaps some of the mystery of the lonely valley and shut-in house, lingered with them still. "Mrs. Nairne is in every way reliable, but Lady Cicely, my little charge's mother, has trusted me so entirely, I should feel I was abusing her trust if I did what you ask." "I am at my wits' end to know what to do," was the answer. "I don't profess to be able to understand the inwardness of all I saw at the house I have just left, but it is plain that there is some vital need for secrecy. I can't possibly send a woman from the village to these people, and yet they must have somebody for the night. I came to you, because I am sure you can hold your tongue."