_Pat--pat--pat--pat--pat--pat--pat--pat_--a regular beat from a short distance off, and evidently coming from round by the other side of a clump of larches, where the road curved and then went away level and straight for about a mile. "Whatever is that?" thought Lucy, whose eyes grew rounder, and who stared wonderingly in the direction of the sound. "It can't be a rabbit, I'm quite sure." She was perfectly right; it was not a rabbit, as she saw quite plainly the next minute, when a curious-looking figure in white, braided and trimmed with blue, but bare-armed, bare-legged and bare-headed, came suddenly into view, with head forward, fists clenched, and held up on a level with its chest, and running at a steady, well-sustained pace right in the middle of the sandy road. It was a surprise for both. "Captain Rolph!" exclaimed Lucy, as the figure stopped short, panting heavily, and looking a good deal surprised. "Miss Alleyne! Beg pardon. Didn't expect to see anybody so early. Really." Lucy felt as if she would like to run away, but that she felt would be cowardly, so she stood her ground, and made, sensibly enough, the best of matters in what was decidedly a rather awkward encounter. "I often come for an early walk," said the girl, coolly as to speech, though she felt rather hot. "Is this--is this for amateur theatricals?" It would have been wiser not to allude to the captain's costume, but the words slipped out, and they came like a relief to him, for he, too, had felt tolerably confused. As it was his features expanded into a broad grin, and he then laughed aloud. "Theatricals? Why, bless your innocence, no. I am in training for a race--foot-race--ten miles--man who does it in shortest time gets the cup. I give him--" "Him?" said Lucy, for her companion had paused. "Yes, him," said the captain. "Champion to run against." "Run against?" said Lucy, glancing at a great blue bruise upon the captain's arm and a piece of sticking-plaister upon his forehead. "Do you hurt yourself like that when you run against men?" "Haw, haw, haw! Haw, haw, haw!" laughed the captain. "I beg pardon, but, really, you are such a daisy. So innocent, you know. That was done last night out in the woods. Bit of a row with some poacher chaps. One of them hit me with a stick on the head. That's from the butt of a gun." He gave the bruise on his bare arm a slap, and laughed, while Lucy coloured with shame and annoyance, but resolved to ignore the captain's rather peculiar appearance, and escape as soon as she could. "I ought not to mind," she said to herself. "It's only rather French. Like the pictures one sees in the illustrated papers about Trouville." "Were you fighting?"