And in answer the girl laughed again, a careless, merry laugh. "Yes, I wonder who she is. A friend of Piers' apparently. Did you see what a stiff fury he was in?" "It was a fairly stiff flogging," remarked Guyes. "Ye gods! I wonder how he stood it." "Oh, Piers can stand anything," said Ina unconcernedly. "He's as strong as an ox." The voices dwindled and died in the distance. The dusk deepened. A sense of utter forlornness, utter weariness, came upon Avery. The struggle was over, and she had emerged triumphant; but it did not seem to matter. She could think only of those awful blows raining down upon the defenceless shoulders of the boy who had championed her. And, leaning there in the drizzling wet, she covered her face with her hands and wept. CHAPTER XI THE STAR OF HOPE There came the swift drumming of galloping hoofs, the check and pause of a leap, and then close at hand the thud of those same hoofs landing on the near side of the hedge. The rider slithered to the ground, patted the animal's neck, and turned forthwith towards the hut. Avery heard nought of his coming. She was crying like a weak, unnerved woman, draggled and mud-spattered, unspeakably distressed. It was so seldom that she gave way that perhaps the failure of her self-control was the more absolute when it came. She had been tried beyond her strength. Body and mind were alike exhausted. But when strong arms suddenly encircled her and she found herself drawn close to a man's breast, quick and instinctive came the impulse to resist. She drew back from him with a sharp exclamation. "It's only me," said Piers. "Surely you don't mind me!" It was naively expressed, so naively that she assayed to laugh in the midst of her woe. "Oh, how you startled me!" was all she found to say. "But surely you knew I was coming back!" he said. The dogged note was in his voice. It embarrassed her subtly. Seeing his face through the deepening gloom, it seemed to her to be set in stern, unyielding lines. She collected her scattered forces, and gently put his arms away from her. "It was very kind of you, Mr. Evesham," she said. "But please remember that I'm not Jeanie!" He made an impulsive movement of impatience. "I never pretended you were," he said gruffly. "But you were crying, weren't you? Why were you crying?" His tone was almost aggressive. He seemed to be angry, but whether with her, himself, or a third person, Avery could not determine. She decided that the situation demanded firmness, and proceeded to treat it accordingly. "I was very foolish to cry," she said. "I have quite recovered now, so please forget it! It was very kind of you to take my part a little while ago--especially as you couldn't have been really in sympathy with me. Thank you very much!" Again he made that gesture of imperious impatience. "Oh, don't be so beastly formal! I can't stand it. If it had been any other man threatening you, I believe I should have killed him!"