"She is there," whispered Beatrix, "on the bench behind those trees." "Go on first and show me," he said, sternly. But to his amazement his guide rebelled. "I won't," she said. "I'll stay here. She's given me such a fright already, and I don't want her to see me. You speak to her and I'll wait." Robin was not given to strong language, especially to a woman; he opened his mouth and shut it again without speaking. Then a second thought struck him. Perhaps it was better so, though no thanks to Trixie. He caught her by the arm and held her, not too gently. "You'll give me your word of honour, Beatrix Helmont," he said, "that you will stay here, on this spot, till I come back and say you may go?" "Yes; if I must stay, I will. But you are very rough and unkind, Robin. Why are you angry with me?" He gave her no answer, but hurried on to the bench. Some instinct had warned Imogen that she was no longer alone. She had sat up, and was trying to look about her composedly. The effort only made her seem the more piteous. Robin's heart positively swelled as he looked at her, recalling the last, the only time indeed he had ever seen her, and her glad girlish beauty. She did not start as he came near; she sat still as if stupefied. "Miss Wentworth," he said most gently and respectfully, "I am afraid you have had a start or a fright, or--or that you have had bad news. Can I do anything?" She looked at him and smiled, the strangest smile he had ever seen, and with a thrill of horror he remembered Trixie's words, "Gone out of her mind." But in a moment he was relieved of this worst of terrors. "You are Mr Robin Winchester," she said. "Yes, thank you. I have had bad news, and I am so dreadfully tired. I want to go home--to go in, I mean; but I am afraid of meeting any one, because, you see--though it is very silly of me--I have been crying. How can I get in without meeting any one?" "Do you know the way in by the fernery, and the little back-stair up from what used to be the schoolroom?" he asked. She shook her head. Then he considered for a moment in silence. "Miss Wentworth," he said, "Trixie is there, behind the trees. It was she that saw you and called me. If you could agree to it, the very best thing would be to let her take you in. You need not speak to her, and she will do what I tell her." She gave a little shiver, but did not object. "Very well," she said, "if she has seen me already. You will make her promise not to tell? There is something else--you are very kind--could you do it?" "_Anything_," he said, fervently. "My head is getting so bad, and I don't want to be ill _here_," she said. "I do so want to get away. And mamma would want to know; there would be so many explanations. It has all got quite clear while I have been crying. Could you get a telegram sent for me, without _anybody_ knowing?" "Certainly; at once," he replied. "I have a pencil and paper."