all about her
sounded the pleasant hum of a summer's day--the soft susurration of the
pleasant hum of a thousand insect voices blending into an indefinite,
murmurous vibration of the air.

Occasionally the whir of a motor-car sweeping along the adjacent road
broke harshly across the peaceful quiet. Magda glanced up with some
annoyance as the first one sped by, dragging her back to an unwilling
sense of civilisation. Then she bent her head resolutely above her
book and declined to be distracted any further, finally losing herself
completely in the story she was reading.

So it came about that when a long, low, dust-powdered car curved in
between the granite gateposts of Stockleigh Farm and came abruptly to a
standstill, she remained entirely oblivious of its advent. Nor did
she see the tall, slender-limbed man who had been driving, and whose
questing hazel eyes had descried her almost immediately, slip from his
seat behind the steering-wheel and come across the grass towards her.

"_Antoine!_"

The book fell from her hand and she sat up suddenly in the hammock.

"What on earth are you doing here?" she demanded. There was no welcome
in her tone.

For a moment Davilof remained watching her, the sunshine, slanting
between the leaves of the trees, throwing queer little flickering lights
into the hazel eyes and glinting on his golden-brown hair and beard.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated.

"I came--to see you," he said simply.

There was something disarming in the very simplicity of his reply. It
seemed to imply an almost child-like wonder that she should ask--that
there could possibly be any other reason for his presence.

But it failed to propitiate Magda in the slightest degree. She felt
intensely annoyed that anyone from the outside world--from her world of
London--should have intruded upon her seclusion at Ashencombe, nor could
she imagine how Davilof had discovered her retreat.

"How did you learn I was here?" she asked.

"From Melrose."

Magda's eyes darkened sombrely.

"Do you mean you bribed him?" she asked quickly. "Oh, but surely
not!"--in dismayed tones. "Melrose would go to the stake sooner than
accept a bribe!"

Davilof's mouth twisted in a rueful smile.

"I'm sure he would! I tried him, but he wouldn't look at a bribe of any
sort. So I had to resort to strategy. It was one evening, when he was
taking your letters to post, and I waited for him at the pillar-box.
I came up very quiet