She had barely mounted the hill on to Bessmoor, and felt the wind blowing cool from the sea with a salt tang most refreshing to her, than she saw, a few yards off the road, and under the shelter of some gnarled thorn-bushes, a little encampment, and she directed her steps towards it. Miss Vernon was seated on the ground beside a small cart, and at a little distance away a donkey stood contentedly, flicking away the flies which disturbed his peace. To a critical observer the down-trodden state of the grass and undergrowth might have suggested that the place had been occupied for more than a few hours, but Philippa was not in a mood to be observant, or to wonder how long the other had waited for her arrival. Nor did Isabella Vernon say a word to betray the fact that she had spent the whole of the previous day in precisely her present position, having carefully chosen a point of vantage from which any one coming along the road from Bessacre could not by any means fail to be visible to her. She scrambled to her feet. "I am so pleased to see you," she said. And the warmth of her greeting was unmistakable, not so much in the words, which were conventional enough, as in the tone of real welcome in which they were spoken. "I am fortunate to find you," replied Philippa. "I was hoping so much that I might see you. You told me you were often on Bessmoor." "Every day. I live out of doors. Now I do trust that you have time to come and see my cottage. It is not very far off, and if you do not scorn my humble equipage, my donkey, who seems to be sound asleep at the moment, will save you the trouble of walking. You look very white, I hope you have not been ill." "It is only the effect of a stupid headache which bothered me yesterday, but I am really all right to-day." Isabella eyed her searchingly. "Humph! you don't look it," she said candidly. "But let us see what a drive in our splendid air will do for you. It will not take more than a few minutes to collect my belongings and make a start."