"Oh, it isn't of any great importance. It is only an address that some one asked me to send. It can quite well wait. I can attend to it when I come in." "But why not take it? It won't take long." "I will take it myself, miss, if you wish," said Ford, "if you will tell me the spelling of this word." Philippa spelt it--"Nevskiy." "No, no," interrupted Francis. "Come along. We'll do it ourselves." There was a little impatience in his voice, and he was evidently tired of waiting, so she resigned herself to the inevitable and took her place at his side. Francis chatted quite happily of unimportant matters as the pony trotted sedately down the drive, and when they reached the old red-brick lodge, Philippa wondered rather nervously whether the sight of it would draw any comment from him; but no--he only looked about him with quick, interested glance, as if wishful to see something familiar. They turned to the left and entered the straggling village street, where quaint thatched-roofed cottages stood on either side. One or two little children were playing on the footpath, but other wise no one was to be seen, for the elder ones were at school, and most of the mothers had gone for their weekly visit to Renwick, for it was market day. The pony slowed to a walk as the road mounted an incline, and after a few minutes they came in sight of the church, which stood on rather higher ground, with its square tower and grey flint walls wreathed in ivy. It was approached from the road by a flight of worn stone steps surmounted by a lych-gate, through which could be seen a flagged pathway leading to the church door. "No," said Francis, in a tone of disappointment, "I do not remember it. I hoped I should. However," he added almost instantly, "we won't worry over anything to-day, but just enjoy our drive." It seemed to Philippa that he had discovered that allusions to his lack of memory troubled her, for more than once that day he had checked himself and changed the subject, as though he did not wish to distress her, and she was thankful for it. "It is very pretty, isn't it? The post-office is just opposite the church, and when we leave there we can drive straight on until we come to Bessmoor. You would like that, wouldn't you? You love the moor." "Yes," he responded quickly; "I love it. Let us do that, by all means. The clouds have nearly all blown away, and it ought to be lovely to-day." She pulled up at the cottage which served as post-office and general emporium of the village, and was in the act of handing the telegram to the groom when Francis stopped her. "Why not take it yourself?" he said; "it will prevent any more muddle. There is no hurry I shall be quite happy sitting here." She looked at him in surprise, for he had never shown himself so practical as to-day, but there seemed no reason why she should not leave him, so with a word of assent she got down and entered the door.