“I lost my way.” She repeated it as if she had a lesson by rote. “Corwin overtook me and made me turn back. I was hungry, and we ate dinner at the same table--in the public dining-room. Then--then I didn’t want him to ride back with me--and I went out of the side door and started alone. When I came to the crossing above Fanshawe’s Creek, I didn’t know which way to go, and I chose the wrong road. I rode so far that I got frightened. I asked at a house out there--a woman with a queer name--Quantah, I think. I had to come back to the crossing. Then, when I did get to the creek, the horse lay down in the water. I sat and waited, dripping, until a motor picked me up. That’s all.” “No,” said William, “that’s not all. You’re afraid of that man, Fanchon!” “I!” she laughed tremulously. “Why do you think that?” He was watching her, and he saw her eyes change. He was right. She was afraid of Corwin. “I don’t think it,” he said gravely. “I know it. Go on, Fanchon; tell me the rest.” “I have nothing to tell,” she replied slowly, deliberately, but with shaking lips. “You--you don’t believe me, _n’est-ce-pas_?” William, looking steadily into her face, made no reply. His changed, white face frightened her. She rose unsteadily to her feet, a forlorn little figure. “I’m not afraid of Corwin,” she said angrily, “not a bit! _Ciel_, why should I be afraid of any one? I ask you that, _mon ami_!” He still said nothing, his grave eyes on hers. Fanchon returned his look--tried to return it steadily. She had told him a falsehood. She had never been afraid of falsehood; it was an easy way of escape. But now, under his eyes, she flinched. She blushed scarlet, put out a wavering little hand, and tried to catch at his, but he moved away. “Go up-stairs,” he said gravely, without anger, in the remote tone of a man who no longer cared. “You’re worn out; you’ll take cold. I told you so before. Go up-stairs to bed. Shall I rouse Miranda? Do you need help?” “Help?” she shivered, but not with cold. “_Non, non!_ No help for me--here!” As she spoke she turned, lifted the discarded glass of brandy to her lips, and drained it. Then, without looking at him again, she left the room. The light was still on in the hall, but she felt her way to the stairs blindly. She was crying. She had not intended to lie to him, but it was so much easier than to tell the truth. She clung to the banisters for a moment, sobbing bitterly; then, dashing the tears from her eyes, she went on, aware that he was still standing motionless where she had left him. As she dragged herself to the head of the stairs, she was suddenly aware of a figure in the upper hall. She stopped and looked around in a panic. She expected her father-in-law, but it was only Leigh. “Are you safe?” he asked eagerly. “There’s been an accident--I knew it! You’ve been hurt, Fanchon?” She looked at him in surprise. “Where were you, Leigh?” “I’ve been up all night. I knew William was, too, and I’ve waited.”