IX

A HILLSIDE ENCOUNTER

A few minutes before ten the following morning a mounted messenger from
Runton Place brought the following note for Duncombe:--

"RUNTON PLACE, _Friday Morning_.

"MY DEAR DUNCOMBE,--Fielding has cried off the shoot
to-day. Says he has a motor coming over for him to try from
Norwich, and his dutiful daughter remains with him. Thought I
would let you know in case you cared to come and look them up.
Best I could do for you.

"Ever yours sincerely,

"RUNTON."

Duncombe had breakfasted alone. Pelham had asked for something to be
sent up for him, and Spencer, after a cup of coffee in his room, had
gone out. Duncombe did not hesitate for a moment. He started at once for
Runton Place.

A marvellous change had taken place in the weather since the previous
day. The calm splendor of the early autumn seemed to have vanished. A
strong north wind was blowing, and the sky was everywhere gray and
threatening. The fields of uncut corn were bent, like the waves of the
sea, and the yellow leaves came down from the trees in showers. Piled up
masses of black clouds were driven across the sky. Scanty drops of rain
kept falling, an earnest of what was to come as soon as the wind should
fail. Duncombe had almost to fight his way along until, through a
private gate, he entered Runton Park. The house lay down in the valley
about a mile away. To reach it one had to cross a ridge of hills covered
with furze bushes and tumbled fragments of ancient rock.

Half-way up the first ascent he paused. A figure had struggled into
sight from the opposite side--the figure of a girl. Her skirts and cloak
were being blown wildly about her. She wore a flat Tam-o'-Shanter hat,
from under the confines of which her hair was defying the restraint of
hatpins and elastic. She stood there swaying a little from the violence
of the wind, slim and elegant, notwithstanding a certain intensity of
gaze and bearing. Duncombe felt his heart give a quick jump as he
recognized her. Then he started up the hill as fast as he could go.

She stood perfectly still, watching him clamber up to her side. Her face
showed no sign of pleasure or annoyance at his coming. He felt at once
that it was not he alone who had realized the coming of the tragedy.

No words of conventional greeting passed between them as he clambered
breathless to her side. The wind had brought no color into her cheeks.
There were