“But you will die of fatigue,” I cried. “If you are to do this you must rest and eat.” I knew that she had ridden sixty miles in the last thirty-six hours and had done it under the stress of intense emotion. She assented, saying meekly that she would do as I thought best. Then, as we entered, “You will come with me?” she said. And with that she turned to me, and looked at me with something of the old challenge in her eyes, looked as one not asking a favor, so much as demanding a right. Or, if the look did not mean that I was unable to say what it meant, beyond this, that it gave me a sort of shock. It was as if she had shown a different face for a moment. Had she known the truth, then she might have looked at me in such a fashion. But in that case she would not have asked me to go with her, I was sure of that. Still the look was disturbing, and I hesitated. I reflected that her father would tell her the truth; that before four o’clock she would learn all. In the meantime, however, I could be of use to her, I could save her from some trials. And so “Certainly I will go,” I said, “if you wish it. If you still wish it, when the time comes.” “Thank you,” she answered wearily. “I do wish it—and you owe us as much as that.” “I owe you—” She stopped me, raising her hand. “I cannot take Tom,” she continued, “for reasons. And the horses? Will you arrange about them? I am—I am very tired.” She turned her back on me, and with a weary sigh she sat down. I told her that I would do everything and see to everything, and I hastened away to find the woman on whom we were quartered. I had a meal prepared, and Paton’s room made ready, and water brought and brushes and soap. To do this, to do anything relieved my pent-up feelings, yet while I went about the task, the look that she had given me, when she had asked me to go with her, haunted me. What did it mean? It had impressed itself unpleasantly upon me as at variance with the rest of her conduct, with her confidence, her docility, her dependence on me. For in other matters she had turned to me as a helpless child might turn; and though her acts proved that she had a course of action marked out, and was following that course, her manner would have appealed to a heart of stone. Presently I was aware of Paton looking in to the room with the same scared face. He beckoned me to him. “You will want horses, won’t you?” he whispered. “Yes,” I said. “How many?” “Two,” I said. “Good ones.” “I’ll arrange it,” he answered. “Leave it to me and stay where you are. At what time?” “Four,” I said.