Saxon was seated facing the engine, and, in consequence, when Annie opened the window wide he was exposed to a tremendous draught. He bore it for a minute or two; then, rising, he said very quietly: "Will you excuse me? I don't think the night air is good for you, and it is certainly bad for me. I will, therefore, with your permission, shut the window; it is cold." "I am suffocating," said Annie. "I will open it again in a few minutes so that you can have fresh air from time to time." "Oh!" said Annie, with a sudden burst of passion, beating one small hand over the other, "why have you been so cruel to me?" Saxon glanced at her. There was only one other occupant of the carriage--an old gentleman, who was sound asleep and snoring loudly. "Won't you speak?" said Annie. "Why do you sit so silent, so indifferent, when you have spoiled my life?" "We have different ideas on that point," he said. "You can do exactly as you please with your life, as far as I am concerned, by-and-by. At present you are under the care of your uncle, the Rev Maurice Brooke. While he lives you have to do his wishes, to carry them out according to his views. I am helping _him_ in this matter, not you. Afterwards, we will discover by your uncle's will what he wishes to have done with you. You are only seventeen; you must yield to the directions and the will of those who are older than yourself and who are placed by God in authority over you." "Oh, how I hate you when you preach!" "Then perhaps you will not speak to me. I am exceedingly tired; a journey to Zermatt and back again without any rest makes a man inclined for slumber. I will sleep, if you have no objection. In the morning perhaps we shall both be in a better temper than we are at present." "I wish," said Annie, speaking in sudden passion, "that I could fling myself out of that window. You have destroyed every prospect I ever had in life." "You talk in an exceedingly silly way," said Saxon. "Now do try and be quiet, if you please." His absolute disregard of her threat to end her own miserable life made Annie at once furious and also strangely subdued. She sat back in her corner like a little wild creature caught in a trap. There was nothing whatever to be done but to submit. To submit as she was now doing was indeed new to Annie Brooke. Her head was in a whirl; but by-and-by, to her own relief, she also slept, and so part of the miserable journey was got through. It was late on the following afternoon when Annie and John Saxon found themselves driving in the gig to Rashleigh Rectory. They had to pass through the little village, and Annie looked with a sort of terror at Dawson's shop. She wondered if the matter of the cheque would ever be brought up against her. So occupied was she with herself and with all the dreadful things she had done that she could scarcely think of her dying old uncle at all.