everything! He did
not--did not--"

"Kick me?" questioned Nap drily. "My dear lady, no man may kick Nap Errol
and live. So I did not give him the opportunity."

She uttered a quick sob and turned her head upon the pillow. The tears
were running down her face.

The hand that pressed her wrist began to rub it very gently. "That's
the worst of telling the truth," Nap said softly. "It is sure to
hurt someone."

"I am glad you told me," she whispered back, "though I don't know what to
say to you--how to atone--"

"I will tell you then," he answered swiftly. "Stay quietly here and be
as happy as you can till the doctor gives you leave to go back. You will
have to do it in any case, but--if you feel you owe me anything, which of
course you don't"--he smiled again, and his smile when free from cynicism
held a wonderful charm--"do it willingly--please do it willingly!"

She could not answer him in words, but her fingers closed upon his.
Instantly she felt his answering pressure. A moment later he laid her
hand down very gently and left her.

CHAPTER XI

THE STING OF A SCORPION

"Oh, dear, I wish it wasn't so muddy." Dot, emerging from old Squinny's
cottage, stood a moment on the edge of the large puddle that was old
Squinny's garden and gazed over the ploughed fields beyond towards the
sinking sun. It was the last day in January, and the winter dusk was
already creeping up in a curtain of damp mist that veiled everything it
touched. She knew it would be dark long before she got home, and the
prospect of sliding about in the muddy lanes did not attract her.

"You were an idiot not to bring a lantern," she told herself severely,
as she skirted the edge of the puddle. "You might have known--but you
never think!"

Here she reached the garden-gate and lifted it scientifically off its
hinges and then back again when she had passed through. Old Squinny's
gate had not opened in the ordinary way within the memory of man. It was
stoutly bound to the gate-post by several twists of rusty chain.

A stretch of waste land lay beyond the cottage garden; then came the
road and then the fields, brown and undulating in the ruddy western glow.
For a second or two Dot considered the homeward path that lay across the
fields. She had come by that earlier in the afternoon, and she knew
exactly what it had to offer besides the advantage of cutting half a mile
from a three-mile trudge. But her knowledge eventually decided her in