She was so tired; so stiff; and in such pain. Her ankle hurt her so that she could hardly put her foot to the ground. The leg which she had grazed against the wall, as she had lowered herself from the sill, smarted almost beyond endurance. Her bruised body ached all over; her head ached worse than her body. As she paused to take her bearings all these things forced themselves on her at once. She became conscious that, however great the need, she could not go on much farther without a rest. Where was she to rest? Out here the world seemed brighter; the stars brighter. Certainly the air was clearer. She could see on all sides of her, by the light of the stars, ever so far; little enough there seemed to see. Here and there, the way she had come, were the outlines of houses; but in front, and on either hand, was nothing but the open moor; broken by what probably were clumps of furze and bushes. Should she lie down by the side of one of those clumps, to rest? The turf ought to be dry; there was promise of fair weather; she would be better there than alone in a room with Mr Emmett, be he alive or dead. The thing to be desired was to get at some distance from the road, so that she might escape observation from passers-by. She began to pick her way, as best she could, across the grass. Her objective was a patch of brushwood which, so far as she was able to judge, was at a distance of perhaps a couple of hundred yards; far enough from the road to ensure her privacy. Gaining the edge of the patch, she began to thread her way among the bushes; determined, if she could, to reach the centre, so that they might stand up round about her, and so serve as an effective screen. She had just decided that she had got as far in among them as she need, and was about to allow herself the luxury of sinking down upon the turf, when there was a rustling sound, and, looking up, a man seemed to rise out of the solid earth, within a few feet of where she was standing. Which of the twain was more surprised there was nothing to show; the man was the first to speak; which he did in a voice which at least hinted at cultivation: "Who are you?" The girl, taken wholly unawares, replied, in faltering tones, as a child might have done: "I'm--I'm Dorothy." "Oh, you are Dorothy; that's good hearing. And pray, Dorothy, from where did you happen to have sprung?" She echoed his word. "Sprung?" "Yes; literally and correctly, sprung; for since a minute ago there was no one within a mile, one only can conclude that you have sprung clean out of mother earth. If you haven't, how do you come to be there?--from where have you come?" "I've come--from the road." "From the road. That's very illuminating. Did you come to this particular spot because you knew that I was here?" "Knew--that you were here!" Her manner seemed to strike him. There was an interval before he spoke again. "I think, if you don't mind, I'll come and have a better look at you."