It led to an old summer-house perched on a slope that overlooked the scene of Jeanie's accident in the winter. A cold wind drove down upon him as he ascended. The sky was grey with scurrying clouds. The bare downs looked indescribably desolate. Piers hastened along with set teeth. The dread he would not acknowledge hung like a numbing weight upon him. Somehow, inexplicably, he knew that he was nearing the end of his quest. The long moan of the wind was the only sound to be heard. It seemed to fill the world. No voice of bird or beast came from near or far. He seemed to travel through a vast emptiness--the only living thing astir. He reached the thatched summer-house at last, noted with a curious detachment that it was beginning to look dilapidated, wondered if he would find it after all deserted, and the next moment was nearly overwhelmed by a huge grey body that hurled itself upon him from the interior of the little arbour. It was Caesar the great Dalmatian who greeted him thus effusively, and Piers realized in an instant that the dog had some news to impart. He pushed him aside with a brief word of welcome and entered the ivy-grown place. "Hullo!" gasped a voice with painful utterance. "Hullo!" And in a moment he discerned Sir Beverley crouched in a corner, grey-faced, his riding-whip still clutched in his hand. Impetuously he went to him, stooped above him. "What on earth has happened, sir? You haven't been thrown?" he queried anxiously. "Thrown! I!" Sir Beverley's voice cracked derisively. "No! I got off--to have a look at the place,--and the brute jibbed--and gave me the slip." The words came with difficult jerks, his breathing was short and laboured. Piers, bending over him, saw a spasm of pain contract the grey face that nevertheless looked so indomitably into his. "He'll go back to stables," growled Sir Beverley. "It's a way colts have--when they've had their fling. What have you come back for, eh? Thought I couldn't do without you?" There was a stony glint in his eyes as he asked the question. His thin lips curved sardonically. Piers, still with anxiety lying cold at his heart, had no place left for resentment. He made swift and winning answer. "I've been a brute, sir. I've come back to ask your forgiveness." The sardonic lips parted. "Instead of--a hiding--eh?" gasped Sir Beverley. Piers drew back momentarily; but the grey, drawn face compelled his pity. He stifled his wrath unborn. "I'll take that first, sir," he said steadily. Sir Beverley's frown deepened, but his breathing was growing less oppressed. He suddenly collected his energies and spoke with his usual irascibility. "Oh, don't try any of your damned heroics on me, sir! Apologize like a gentleman--if you can! If not--if not--" He broke off panting, his lips still forming words that he lacked the strength to utter.