"What they'll do," she said, presently, "when they're sure I'm not in the park, is to go down to your inn and see if you're there." "Yes," he said, "I'm counting on that. That's why I said two or three hours. You see, I must be there when they do come, and the minute they're gone I'll go for the motor. Look here--I've got some chocolate that I got for a kiddy to-day; luckily, I forgot to give it to him; and here are some matches, only don't strike them if you can help it. Now, stick to it." They went on in silence; half-way up the hill he took her arm to help her. Then, over the crest of the hill, in a hollow of the downs there was the dark-spread blot of house and farm buildings. They went down the road. Nothing stirred--only as they neared the farm-yard a horse in the stable rattled his halter against the manger and they heard his hoofs moving on the cobbled floor of his stall. They stood listening. No, all was still. "Give me your hand," he said, and led her round to the side of the house. The key grated a little as he turned it in the lock. He threw back the door. "This is the kitchen," he said. "Stand just inside and I'll make a nest for you. I know exactly where to lay my hands on the straw." There was rustling in the darkness and a sound of boards grating on bricks. She stood at the door and waited. "Ready," he said. "They'll find me," she said. "We shall never get away." "Trust me for that," said he. "I must have been mad to come," he heard through the darkness. "We're all mad once in our lives," he said, cheerfully. "Now roll yourself in your cloak. Give me your hands--so." He led her to the straw nest he had made, and lowered her to it. "Do you wish you hadn't come?" he asked. "I don't know," she said. "I hope to Heaven I haven't misjudged you," he said, with the first trace of anxiety she had yet heard in his voice. "If you should be the kind of girl who's afraid of the dark--" The straw rustled as she curled herself more comfortably in her nest. "I'm not afraid," she said. "Look here," said he, "here's my match-box, but don't strike a light among the straw. The door into the house is locked and the key's on this side of the door. Can you come to the back door and lock it after me, and then find your way back to your nest?" "Yes," she said, and felt her way past the big copper to the door. "Sure you're not frightened?" "Quite," said she. "Then I'll go," said he, and went. She locked the door and crept back to the straw. He waited till its crackling told him that she had found her way back to her couch. Then he started for Jevington. And as he went he told himself that she was right. She had been mad to come, and he had been mad to let her come. But there was no going back now.