ussia, and there
seems to be some muddle at the post-office about it."

"We will drive there, and then you can go in and explain it yourself."
He stepped into the carriage as he spoke, and Keen arranged the rug
over his knees.

Philippa hesitated. She did not want Francis to go into the village,
and yet, since he himself had suggested it, it was difficult to find a
good reason for opposing him.

"What is it about?" he asked again.

"Oh, it isn't of any great importance. It is only an address that some
one asked me to send. It can quite well wait. I can attend to it when
I come in."

"But why not take it? It won't take long."

"I will take it myself, miss, if you wish," said Ford, "if you will
tell me the spelling of this word."

Philippa spelt it--"Nevskiy."

"No, no," interrupted Francis. "Come along. We'll do it ourselves."

There was a little impatience in his voice, and he was evidently tired
of waiting, so she resigned herself to the inevitable and took her
place at his side.

Francis chatted quite happily of unimportant matters as the pony
trotted sedately down the drive, and when they reached the old
red-brick lodge, Philippa wondered rather nervously whether the sight
of it would draw any comment from him; but no--he only looked about him
with quick, interested glance, as if wishful to see something familiar.

They turned to the left and entered the straggling village street,
where quaint thatched-roofed cottages stood on either side. One or two
little children were playing on the footpath, but other wise no one was
to be seen, for the elder ones were at school, and most of the mothers
had gone for their weekly visit to Renwick, for it was market day.

The pony slowed to a walk as the road mounted an incline, and after a
few minutes they came in sight of the church, which stood on rather
higher ground, with its square tower and grey flint walls wreathed in
ivy. It was approached from the road by a flight of worn stone steps
surmounted by a lych-gate, through which could be seen a flagged
pathway leading to the church door.

"No," said Francis, in a tone of disappointment, "I do not remember it.
I hoped I should. However," he added almost instantly, "we won't worry
over anything to-day, but just enjoy our drive."

It seemed to Philippa that he had discovered that allusions to his lack
of memory troubled her, for more than once that day he had checked
himself and changed the subject, as