the feelings she
had shown him had been chiefly feigned, and that this real resentment,
marking her face with petulance, revealed her nature to be common with
his own.

"But you've not told me what you came for," he said.

She was reluctant, but she spoke. "To ask you to do something for us."

"You know I'll do it."

Still sulky, she took a few steps and leaned against the house wall; she
had the look of a boy caught in a fault.

"We want the doctor."

"Who's ill?"

"It's Notya."

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know." She forgot her grievance. "I don't like thinking of it.
It makes me sick."

"Is she very bad?"

"No, but I think he ought to come."

"Must I bring him back?"

"Just leave a message, please, if it doesn't put you out."

In the pause before he spoke, he studied the dark head against the
white-washed wall, the slim body, the little feet crossed on the
cobbles, and then he stammered:

"You--you're like a rose-tree growing up."

She spread her arms and turned and drooped her head to encourage the
resemblance. "Like that?"

He nodded, with the clumsiness of his emotions. "Look here--"

"Now, don't be tiresome. Oh, you can tell me what you were going to
say."

"All these weeks--"

"I know, but it was for your sake, George."

"How?"

"It's difficult to explain, but one night my good angel bent over my
bed, like a mother--or was it your good angel?"

He grinned. "I don't believe you'd know one if you saw one."

"I'm afraid I shouldn't," she admitted, with a laugh. "Would you?"

"I fancy I've seen one."

"Mrs. Biggs?" she dared. "Me?"

"I'm not going to tell you."

"I expect it's me. But run away and bring the doctor."

"I say--will you wait till I get back?"

"I couldn't. Think of Mrs. Biggs!"

"Not here. Up in the wood. But never mind. Come and see me saddle the
little mare."

She liked the smell of the long, dim stable, the sound of the horses
moving in their stalls, the regular crunching as they ate their hay.
Years ago, she had been in this place with John and Rupert and she had
forgotten nothing. There were the corn-bins under the windows and the
pieces of old harness still hanging on big nails; above, there was the
loft that looked as vast as ever in the shadowy gloom, and again it
invited her ascent by the iron steps between the stalls.

From the harness-room Halkett fetched a saddle, and as he put it on the
mare's back, he said, "Come and say how d'you do to he