“Yes.  And there are two people who remember meeting a man on the X—­road who said he was going to Walton End.  And the police have been inquiring, but nobody at Walton End knows anything about such a man.  However, they have a description of him at last.  A tall, dark fellow—­gentlemanly manners—­seems delicate.  I don’t like the look of it, Miss Janet.  Seems to me as though it weren’t just a tramp, hanging about for what he can steal.  Do you know of anybody who has a down on Miss Henderson—­who’d like to frighten her, or put blackmail on her?”

Janet considered.  She was tempted to take the faithful fellow to some extent into her confidence, but she rapidly decided against it.  She suggested that he should himself sleep for a few nights at the farm, and carefully examine the neighbourhood of it, last thing; and that she should bicycle over to Millsborough at once, and have some further talk with the Superintendent of Police there.

“Besides—­I’d like to be out of the way,” she thought.  “They won’t want anybody hanging round!”

For there was steadily growing up in her a blissful confidence that all would be once more settled and settled for good, before the night fell.  Spectators were entirely out of place!  Nor would she disturb Rachel’s mind by any talk just then of what seemed to be a fresh attempt at terrorism on the part of her wretched husband.  Hastings would be in charge for the moment, and Ellesborough would be on the spot for consultation before darkness had really set in.

So as before, she told Hastings not to alarm Miss Henderson.  But he was not to leave the farm-buildings, and possibly the Superintendent of Police would return with her.  “And then—­either Rachel or the Captain will have to tell the police the truth!” Just as she was starting, Rachel came downstairs in some surprise.

“Where are you off to?”

“I have forgotten something I wanted from Millsborough.  I shall be back in an hour or so.”

Rachel abstractedly nodded assent.  The golden light from the west transfigured her, as she stood in the doorway.  She was pale, but it seemed to Janet that she was no longer excited—­that there was in her too something of the confidence which had sprung up in the heart of her friend.  She had the look of one for whom the Valley of the Shadow is past, and her beauty had never struck Janet as it struck her at that moment.  Its grosser elements seemed all refined away.  The girlish look was quite gone; she seemed older and graver; but there breathed about her “a diviner air.”

Janet, who was much the shorter, mounted on the step to kiss her.  Caresses were not at all common between them, but Rachel returned it, and their eyes met in a quiet look which said what her lips forbore.  Then Janet departed, and Rachel waved to her as she passed through the gate.

Hastings crossed the yard, and Rachel called to him.

“Are you off soon?”