“You’re quite mistaken,” she said coldly, “I never saw you before that I am aware of.  Please let go the reins.  I can manage now quite well.  I don’t know what made me feel ill.  I’m all right now.”

“You’ve got the reins twisted round the shaft, miss,” said Dempsey officiously.  “You’d better let me put ’em right.”

And without waiting for a reply, he began to disentangle them, not without a good deal of fidgeting from the horse, which delayed him.  His mouth twitched with laughter as he bent over the shaft.  Deny that she was Mrs. Delane!  That was a good one.  Why, now that he had seen her close, he could swear to her anywhere.

Rachel watched him, her senses sharpening rapidly.  Only a few minutes since Roger had been there—­and now, this man.  Had they met?  Was there collusion between them?  There must be.  How else could Roger know?  No one else in the world but this youth could have given him the information.  She recalled the utter solitude of the snow-bound farm—­the heavy drifts—­no human being but Dick and herself—­till that evening when the new snow was all hard frozen, and they two had sleighed back under the moon to her own door.

What to do?  She seemed to see her course.

“What is your name?” she asked him, endeavouring to speak in her ordinary voice, and bending over the front of the cart, she spoke to the horse, “Quiet, Jack, quiet!”

“My name’s John Dempsey, ma’am.”  He looked up, and then quickly withdrew his eyes.  She saw the twitching smile that he now could hardly restrain.  By this time he had straightened the reins, which she gathered up.

“It’s curious,” she said, “but you’re not the first person who’s mistaken me for that Mrs. Delane.  I knew something about her.  I don’t want to be mistaken for her.”

“I see,” said Dempsey.

“I would rather you didn’t speak about it in the village—­or anywhere.  You see, one doesn’t like to be confused with some people.  I didn’t like Mrs. Delane.”

The lad looked up grinning.

“She got divorced, didn’t she?”

“I dare say.  I knew very little about her.  But, as I said, I don’t want to be mistaken for her.”

Then, tying the reins to the cart, she jumped down and stood beside him.

His hand went instinctively to the horse’s mouth, holding the restive animal still.

“And I should be very much obliged to you if you would keep what you thought about me to yourself.  I don’t want you to talk about it in the village or anywhere.  Come up and see me—­at the farm—­and I’ll tell you why I dislike being mixed up with that woman—­why, in fact, I should mind it dreadfully.  I can’t explain now, but—­”

The young man was fairly dazzled by the beauty of the sudden flush on her pale cheeks, of her large pleading eyes, her soft voice.  And this—­as old Betts had only that afternoon told him—­was the lady engaged to his own superior officer, Captain Ellesborough, the Commandant of Ralstone Camp, whom he heartily admired, and stood in considerable awe of!  His vanity, of which he possessed so large a share, was much tickled; but, also, his feelings were touched.