"Perhaps," he said at last, "one of the main roads would be best. I'd rather not risk any chance of losing my way." Miss Tranter stepped out of the bar and came to the open doorway of the inn. "Take that path across the moor," and she pointed with one of her bright knitting needles to a narrow beaten track between the tufted grass, whitened here and there by clusters of tall daisies, "and follow it as straight as you can. It will bring you out on the highroad to Williton and Watchett. It's a goodish bit of tramping on a hot day like this, but if you keep to it steady you'll be sure to get a lift or so in waggons going along to Dunster. And there are plenty of publics about where I daresay you'd get a night's sixpenny shelter, though whether any of them are as comfortable as the 'Trusty Man,' is open to question." "I should doubt it very much," said Helmsley, his rare kind smile lighting up his whole face. "The 'Trusty Man' thoroughly deserves trust; and, if I may say so, its kind hostess commands respect." He raised his cap with the deferential easy grace which was habitual to him, and Miss Tranter's pale cheeks reddened suddenly and violently. "Oh, I'm only a rough sort!" she said hastily. "But the men like me because I don't give them away. I hold that the poor must get a bit of attention as well as the rich." "The poor deserve it more," rejoined Helmsley. "The rich get far too much of everything in these days,--they are too much pampered and too much flattered. Yet, with it all, I daresay they are often miserable." "It must be pretty hard to be miserable on twenty or thirty thousand a year!" said Miss Tranter. "You think so? Now, I should say it was very easy. For when one has everything, one wants nothing." "Well, isn't it all right to want nothing?" she queried, looking at him inquisitively. "All right? No!--rather all wrong! For want stimulates the mind and body to work, and work generates health and energy,--and energy is the pulse of life. Without that pulse, one is a mere husk of a man--as I am!" He doffed his cap again. "Thank you for all your friendliness. Good-bye!" "Good-bye! Perhaps I shall see you again some time this way?" "Perhaps--but----" "With your friend?" she suggested. "Ay--if I find my friend--then possibly I may return. Meanwhile, all good be with you!" He turned away, and began to ascend the path indicated across the moor. Once he looked back and waved his hand. Miss Tranter, in response, waved her piece of knitting. Then she went on clicking her needles rapidly through a perfect labyrinth of stitches, her eyes fixed all the while on the tall, thin, frail figure which, with the assistance of a stout stick, moved slowly along between the nodding daisies.