“Yes,” he said eagerly.  “I could send a man over with her—­a day ahead.”

This was Thursday.

“I’ll ride with you Saturday,” she said finally.  “You get your horse over to Dunstan Friday—­to-morrow—­and we’ll start from here early Saturday morning.  A day in the hills—­and supper at night in my real home!”

She had never seen him so pleased, but Beth was a little startled at herself when she considered yesterday....  He was always so different when he came, from the creation of her mind when alone, and the doubts flew in and out.  Then the little sacred book he had brought—­so powerfully fathomed and marked—­it was like bringing his youth to her, with all its thoughts and wanderings.  He was particularly attractive to her in these little things, and she missed not a phase of such impulses.  He delighted to see them in her house, he said, and she knew they had been his riches in the years of loneliness and wandering....  Far back in her faculties, however, the battle was furious and constant.  Every faltering advance of faith was met and assailed.

“I thank you,” he said.  “In fact, I can’t thank you....  What a day it will be for me to live over....  There’s a little thing that needs doing.  It will take me away for three or four days next week.”

Beth almost laughed.  She caught the laugh of mockery in time.  The ride just arranged seized and held her attention, like some baleful creature.  There was abomination about it, to her thoughts—­the ease with which he had managed, her abject softness....  She was trembling within, all her resistance settling, straining, like a tree before the final stroke of the axe.  Her hands trembled crazily and were cold....  She had given her word; yes, they would ride together.  She could not evade his eyes, his question, if she refused now....  He must not see that she was whipped....  But she would not see him after that.  He could not come back to her from the Wordling arms.  She would not see him to-morrow.  But the picture——­

She had turned from the easel to her desk, and was fumbling with papers there, her back turned to him.  A half minute had passed since his last word...  One word came from her: 

“Yes?”

She had meant it to sound as if spoken absently, as if she were preoccupied in search for a certain paper.  Instead it was an eldritch note in the room, like the croak of an evil bird...  He was standing near the outer door.  Something of her tumult must have come to him, she thought, for his voice was strangely altered when he asked: 

“Will three or four days make any difference about the picture?”