“You’ll bring her back, Blaise?” she urged, a quiver in her voice. “I’ll bring her back, madonna,” he answered quietly. “Don’t worry.” A minute later he and the great roan horse were lost to sight in the mirk of the night. Only the beat of galloping hoofs was flung back to the two who were left to watch and wait, muffled and vague through the shrouding mist like the sound of a distant drum. CHAPTER XXIX--THE GOLDEN HOUR ORION had fully justified Blaise’s opinion of his capabilities. As though the great horse had gathered that there was trouble abroad to which he must not add, he had needed neither whip nor spur as he carried his master with long, sweeping strides over the miles that lay betwixt Staple and the Moor. He was as fresh as paint, and the rush through the cool night, under a rider with hands as light as a woman’s and who sat him with a flexible ease, akin to that of a Cossack, had not distressed him in the very least. Now they were climbing the last long slope of the white road that approached the bungalow, the reins lying loosely on Orion’s neck. The mist had lifted a little in places, and a watery-looking moon peered through the clouds now and again, throwing a vague, uncertain light over the blurred and sombre moorland. Tormarin had no very definite plan of campaign in his mind. He felt convinced that he should find Jean at the bungalow. If, contrary to his expectation, she were not there, nor anyone else to whom he could apply for information as to her whereabouts, he would have to consider what his next move must be. Meanwhile, his thoughts were preoccupied with the main fact that she had failed to return home. If she had accepted Burke’s invitation to the bungalow, believing that Judith and the Holfords would be of the party, how was it that she had not at once returned when she discovered that for some reason they were not there? Some weeks ago--during the period when she was defiantly investigating the possibilities of an “unexploded bomb”--it was quite possible that the queer recklessness which sometimes tempts a woman to experiment in order to see just how far she may go--the mysterious delight that the feminine temperament appears to derive from dancing on the edge of a precipice--might have induced her to remain and have tea with Burke, chaperon or no chaperon. And then it was quite on the cards that Burke’s lawless disregard of anything in the world except the fulfilment of his own desires might have engineered the rest, and he might have detained her at the bungalow against her will.