“Valerie, don’t be afraid!  I was crazy to touch you;—­I’ll let you cut me to pieces if you’ll only answer me.”

And again he shouted, in a voice made thin by fright:  “For God’s sake, Valerie, think of me for a moment.  Don’t run off like that and let people know what’s happened to you!”

Then, in a moment, his heavy, hurried tread resounded; and he must have run very near to where she crouched, because she could hear him whimpering in his fear; but he ran on past where she lay, calling to her at intervals, until his frightened voice sounded at a distance and she could scarcely hear the rustle of the dead leaves under his hurrying tread.

Even then terror held her chained, breathing fast like a wounded thing, eyes bright with the insanity of her fear.  She lay flat in the leaves, not stirring.

The last red sunbeams slanted through the woods, painting tree trunks crimson and running in fiery furrows through, the dead leaves; the sky faded to rose-colour, to mauve; faintly a star shone.

For a long time now nothing had stirred in the woodland silence.  And, as the star glimmered brighter through the branches, she shivered, moved, lay listening, then crawled a little way.  Every sound that she made was a terror to her, every heart beat seemed to burst the silence.

It was dusk when she crept out at last into a stony road, dragging her limbs; a fine mist had settled over the fields; the air grew keener.  Somewhere in the darkness cow-bells tinkled; overhead, through the damp sheet of fog, the veiled stars were still shining.

Her senses were not perfectly clear; she remembered falling once or twice—­remembered seeing the granite posts and iron gates of a drive, and that lighted windows were shining dimly somewhere beyond.  And she crept toward them, still stupid with exhaustion and fright.  Then she was aware of people, dim shapes in the darkness—­of a dog barking—­of voices, a quick movement in the dusk—­of a woman’s startled exclamation.

Suddenly she heard Neville’s voice—­and a door opened, flooding her with yellow light where she stood swaying, dazed, deathly pale.

“Louis!” she said.

He sprang to her, caught her in his arms

“Good God!  What is the matter?”

She rested against him, her eyes listlessly watching the people swiftly gathering in the dazzling light.

“Where in the world—­how did you get here!—­where have you been—­” His stammered words made him incoherent as he caught sight of the mud and dust on her torn waist and skirt.

Her eyes had closed a moment; they opened now with an effort.  Once more she looked blindly at the people clustering around her—­recognised his sister and Stephanie—­divined that it was his mother who stood gazing at her in pallid consternation—­summoned every atom of her courage to spare him the insult which a man’s world had offered to her—­found strength to ignore it so that no shadow of the outrage should fall through her upon him or upon those nearest to him.