“Not unless I’m mad as well. _Do_ try to think a minute quietly. How could any one conceivably know anything about the Thirty-Mile-Ride having anything to do with you, unless he had been there?” “But where? But _where?_ Tell me!” “There—wherever it may be—in our country, I suppose. Do you remember the first time you rode it—the Thirty-Mile-Ride, I mean? You must.” “It was all dreams—all dreams!” “Yes, but tell, please; because I know.” “Let me think. I—we were on no account to make any noise—on no account to make any noise.” She was staring between Dandy’s ears, with eyes that did not see, and a suffocating heart. “Because ‘It’ was dying in the big house?” Georgie went on, reining in again. “There was a garden with green-and-gilt railings—all hot. Do _you_ remember?” “I ought to. I was sitting on the other side of the bed before ‘It’ coughed and ‘They’ came in.” “You!”—the deep voice was unnaturally full and strong, and the girl’s wide-opened eyes burned in the dusk as she stared him through and through. “Then you’re the Boy—my Brushwood Boy, and I’ve known you all my life!” She fell forward on Dandy’s neck. Georgie forced himself out of the weakness that was overmastering his limbs, and slid an arm round her waist. The head dropped on his shoulder, and he found himself with parched lips saying things that up till then he believed existed only in printed works of fiction. Mercifully the horses were quiet. She made no attempt to draw herself away when she recovered, but lay still, whispering, “Of course you’re the Boy, and I didn’t know—I didn’t know.” “I knew last night; and when I saw you at breakfast—” “Oh, _that_ was why! I wondered at the time. You would, of course.” “I couldn’t speak before this. Keep your head where it is, dear. It’s all right now—all right now, isn’t it?” “But how was it _I_ didn’t know—after all these years and years? I remember—oh, what lots of things I remember!” “Tell me some. I’ll look after the horses.” “I remember waiting for you when the steamer came in. Do you?” “At the Lily Lock, beyond Hong-Kong and Java?” “Do _you_ call it that, too?” “You told me it was when I was lost in the continent. That was you that showed me the way through the mountains?” “When the islands slid? It must have been, because you’re the only one I remember. All the others were ‘Them.’ “Awful brutes they were, too.” “I remember showing you the Thirty-Mile-Ride the first time. You ride just as you used to—then. You _are_ you!” “That’s odd. I thought that of you this afternoon. Isn’t it wonderful?” “What does it all mean? Why should you and I of the millions of people in the world have this—this thing between us? What does it mean? I’m frightened.” “This!” said Georgie. The horses quickened their pace. They thought they had heard an order. “Perhaps when we die we may find out more, but it means this now.”