or guidance,
and, as he looked, a light appeared in the window of the hilltop cottage.

"Perhaps," said he, "if I knock at the door up there, they can give you a
glass of milk. Or a cup of tea," he added, brightening with the glow of
inspiration. "Or they may be able to let you lie down for a while."

But Emmy shook her head miserably. Milk, tea, recumbent luxury were as
nothing to her. Neither poppy nor mandragora (or words to that effect)
could give her ease again. And she couldn't walk four miles, and she must
catch the morning train.

"If you'll tell me what I can do," said Septimus, "I'll do it."

A creaky rumble was heard in the distance and presently they made out a
cart coming slowly down the hill. Septimus had another brilliant idea.

"Let me put you into that and take you back to Nunsmere."

She sprang to her feet and clutched his arm.

"Never. Never, do you hear? I couldn't bear it. Mother, Zora--I couldn't
see them again. Last night they nearly drove me into hysterics. What do you
suppose I came out for at this hour, if it wasn't to avoid meeting them?
Let us go on. If I die on the road, so much the better."

"Perhaps," said Septimus, "I could carry you."

She softened, linked her arm in his, and almost laughed, as they started up
the hill.

"What a good fellow you are, and I've been behaving like a beast. Anyone
but you would have worried me with questions--and small wonder. But you
haven't even asked me--"

"Hush," said Septimus. "I know. I saw the paragraph in the newspaper. Don't
let's talk of it. Let us talk of something else. Do you like honey? The
Great Bear put me in mind. Wiggleswick wants to keep bees. I tell him, if
he does, I'll keep a bear. He could eat the honey, you see. And then I
could teach him to dance by playing the bassoon to him. Perhaps he would
like the bassoon," he continued, after a pause, in his wistful way. "Nobody
else does."

"If you had it with you now, I should love it for your sake," said Emmy
with a sob.

"If you would take my advice and rest in the cottage, I could send for it,"
he replied unsmilingly.

"We must catch the train," said Emmy.

In Wirley, half a mile further, folks were stirring. A cart laden with
market produce waited by a cottage door for the driver who stood swallowing
his final cup of tea. A bare-headed child clung round his leg, an attendant
Hebe. The wanderers halted.

"If the other cart could have taken us back to Nunsmere," said Sept