“Why shouldn’t I understand?” said Piers.  “You threw that in my teeth before.  I don’t know why.”

His tone baffled her.  She could not tell whether he spoke in jest or earnest.  She refrained from answering him, and in the silence that followed he lifted the shutter away from the hut entrance and looked inside.  Avery’s basket of purchases lay at his feet.  He picked it up.  “Come along!  He’s crouched up in the corner, and his eyes look as if he thought all the devils in hell were after him.  Odd as it may seem to you, I can understand his feelings—­and yours.  Let’s go, and leave him to escape in peace!”

He took her arm as naturally as though he had a right, and led her away.  Her basket was in his other hand in which he carried his riding-whip also.  He whistled over his shoulder to his horse who followed him like a dog.

The rain was gradually ceasing, but the clouds had wholly closed upon the sunset.  Avery did not want to walk in silence, but somehow she could not help it.  His hold upon her arm was as light as a feather, but she could not help that either for the moment.  She walked as one beneath a spell.

And before them the clouds slowly parted, and again there shone that single, magic star, dazzingly pure against the darkness.

“Do you see that?” said Piers suddenly.

She assented almost under her breath.

For a moment she was conscious of the tightening of his hand at her elbow.  “It’s the Star of Hope, Avery,” he whispered.  “Yours—­and mine.”  He stopped with the words.  “Don’t say anything!” he said hurriedly.  “Pretend you didn’t hear, if—­if you wish you hadn’t.  Goodbye!”

He thrust her basket into her hand, and turned from her.

A moment he stood as if to give her the opportunity of detaining him if she so desired, and then as she made no sign he went to his horse who waited a couple of yards away, mounted, and without word or salute rode away.

Avery drew a deep, deep breath and walked on.  There was a curious sensation at her heart—­almost a trapped feeling—­such as she had never before experienced.  Again deeply she drew her breath, as if to rid herself of some oppression.  Life was difficult—­life was difficult!

But presently, as she walked, the sense of oppression lessened.  She even faintly smiled to herself.  What an odd, passionate youth he was!  It was impossible to be angry with him; better far not to take him seriously at all.

She recalled old Mrs. Marshall’s dour remarks concerning him;—­“brought up by men from his cradle,” brought up, moreover, by that terrible old Sir Beverley on the one hand and an irresponsible French valet on the other.  She caught herself wishing that she had had the upbringing of him, and smiled again.  There was a great deal of sweetness in his nature; of that she was sure, and because of it she found she could forgive his waywardness, reflecting that he had probably been mismanaged from his earliest infancy.