"You are breathing too quickly," he said. "You have just had a most terrific shaking and your head is agitated. Try breathing more slowly and deeply, as if nothing had happened; and soon your body will be persuaded that nothing has happened." He spoke sternly, but with just that modicum of tenderness which made his words at once a command and an entreaty. "Try it," he said again. "Breathe as if nothing had happened." He held her hand, and gazed sympathetically into her face. "As a matter of fact," he added, "so little has happened that it's not worth while being agitated about it." She looked about as if in search of someone. "It's all right," he said, "no one can find us here. We are a long way from where I first came across you." She closed her eyes, and seemed to be trying to do as he directed, for her nostrils dilated as if in an effort to breathe deeply. He wished she would speak. He dreaded that her mind might be unhinged. "When you are well enough to walk," he said, "we shall go to Sandlewood. We'll have some tea or dinner there, and then you can get back to 'The Fastness' after dark and go straight to bed. That will be excellent, and nobody will be any the wiser." Patiently he waited while her breathing became by degrees more normal, and faint traces of returning colour began to fleck her cheeks. He still held her hand, and now and again he would press it gently as an earnest of his sympathy. It seemed a long and anxious wait, and as his will and desire for her return to strength grew more intense, he hoped that she was profiting from his silent co-operation with her struggle for recovery. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she looked anxiously round. "It's all right," he repeated, "you are not where you were when I first found you. We have moved since then." "Where are the others?" she gasped, the terrified look returning to her eyes. "They went back to the house over an hour ago," he replied. "Is he dead? Did I kill him?" she demanded defiantly. "Dead? No! He's not even badly wounded," he answered. "Where was he wounded?" "In the shoulder,--a slight flesh wound." Her face became slightly flushed, and he rose and faced her. "Don't move unless you want to," he muttered. "But I should prefer to go a little further away. I think it would be a good thing." "Move away?--is any one after us?" she cried frantically. "No, no. No one is after us. But I think you would be better alone with me for a while anyway, and if we can walk a little further on, we shall be off everybody's track." She made an effort to rise. He assisted her, and leaning heavily on his arm she walked with him slowly towards Sandlewood. It was after six. Neither spoke until the village was in sight, and then he asked if she knew of any place in it where they could dine. "Not that it really matters," he added, "because we don't want anything very substantial." She said that she supposed the inn would be the best place.