"Well, you have told me now, thank goodness! And you may rely on this, that man sha'n't be allowed to come near you; if necessary, I will make it my business to prevent him. I will think things over to-night; be sure that I shall find a way out. To-morrow I will come and tell you what I've thought about, when the conditions are more normal." "Rather than that he should again be able to claim me for his wife, even for an hour, I would kill him." "Certainly; I will kill him for you if it comes to that. I have lived in countries where they make nothing of killing vermin of his particular type. But there'll be no necessity for such a drastic remedy. Now, I want you to go home and promise not to worry, because your case is now in hands which are well qualified to relieve you of all cause for apprehension of any sort or kind. I beg you will believe it. Good-night." She hesitated, then put her hands up to her temples, as if her head was aching. "I will say good-night to you. You go, I will stay. My brain's all in a whirl. I want to be alone--to steady it." "I don't like to leave you, in such a place, at such an hour." "Why not? While I've been abroad I've sometimes spent half the night in wandering alone over the mountains. Why am I not as safe here as there?" "It's not a question of safety, no doubt you're safe enough. But--it's the idea." "Be so good as to do as I ask--leave me, please." "Since you ask me in such a tone. Promise me, at least, that you won't stay half the night out here; that, indeed, you won't stay long." "I promise, if my doing so affords you any satisfaction. Probably I'll be in my own room in half an hour, only--I must be alone for a few minutes first. Don't you see?" "I fancy that I do. Good-night. Remember that I'm at least your friend." "I'll remember." "By the way, in the morning where, and when, shall I find you?" "I shall be in the house till lunch." "Good, then before lunch I'll come to you, as early as I can. Good-night again." "Good-night. And"--as he was moving off--"you're not to stop about and watch me, playing the part of the unseen protector. I couldn't bear the thought of being watched. I want to be alone." He laughed. "All right! All right! Since you've promised me that you'll not stay long I promise you that I'll march straight home." He strode off, his arms swinging at his sides, his head hanging a little forward on his chest, as his habit was. She followed him with her eyes. When she saw that he vanished among the trees on his own estate, and did not once look back, she was conscious of an illogical little pang. She knew that he wanted her to understand that, in obedience to her wishes, he refused to keep any surveillance over her movements, even to the extent of looking back. Still she felt that he might have given her one backward glance, ere he vanished into the night. CHAPTER XI THE MAN ON THE FENCE