By degrees he became drowsy. Suddenly he was startled into a very wideawake state. Through half-closed eyes he had seen Sogrange draw a sheet of paper from his pocket, a gold pencil from his chain, and commence to write. In the middle of a sentence his eyes were abruptly lifted. He was looking at the Baroness. Peter, too, turned his head; he also looked at the Baroness. Without a doubt she had been watching both of them. Sogrange's pencil continued its task, only he traced no more characters. Instead, he seemed to be sketching a face, which presently he tore carefully up into small pieces and destroyed. He did not even glance towards Peter, but Peter understood very well what had happened. He had been about to send him a message, but had found the Baroness watching. Peter was fully awake now. His faint sense of suspicion had deepened into a positive foreboding. He had a reckless desire to stop the car, to descend upon the road, and let the secrets of Bernadine go where they would. Then his natural love of adventure blazed up once more. His moment of weakness had passed. The thrill was in his blood, his nerves were tightened. He was ready for what might come, seemingly still half asleep, yet indeed with every sense of intuition and observation keenly alert. Sogrange leaned over from his place. "It is a lonely country, this, into which we are coming, madame," he remarked. She shrugged her shoulders. "Indeed, it is not so lonely here as you will think it when we arrive at our destination," she replied. "There are houses here, but they are hidden by the trees. There are no houses near us." She rubbed the pane with her hand. "We are, I believe, very nearly there," she said. "This is the nearest village. Afterwards we just climb a hill, and about half a mile along the top of it is the High House." "And the name of the village?" Sogrange inquired. "St. Mary's," she told him. "In the summer people call it beautiful around here. To me it is the most melancholy spot I ever saw. There is so much rain, and one hears the drip, drip in the trees all the day long. Alone I could not bear it. To-morrow or the next day I shall pack up my belongings and come to London. I am, unfortunately," she added, with a little sigh, "very, very poor, but it is my hope that you may find the papers of which I have spoken to you valuable." Sogrange smiled faintly. Peter and he could scarcely forbear to exchange a single glance. The woman's candour was almost brutal. She read their thoughts.