The basket, which was really comparatively light, began to feel heavy on her arm, and at length she felt sure that a certain burning spot on her left heel must be a blister which was being rubbed by her shoe.  How it hurt her, and how tired she was—­how tired!  And when she left Mallowe—­lovely, luxurious Mallowe—­she would not go back to her little room all fresh from the Cupps’ autumn house-cleaning, which included the washing and ironing of her Turkey-red hangings and chair-covers; she would be obliged to huddle into any poor place she could find.  And Mrs. Cupp and Jane would be in Chichester.

“But what good fortune it is for them!” she murmured.  “They need never be anxious about the future again.  How—­how wonderful it must be to know that one need not be afraid of the future!  I—­indeed, I think I really must sit down.”

She sat down upon the sun-warmed heather and actually let her tear-wet face drop upon her hands.

“Oh, dear!  Oh, dear!  Oh, dear!” she said helplessly.  “I must not let myself do this.  I mustn’t, Oh, dear!  Oh, dear!  Oh, dear!”

She was so overpowered by her sense of her own weakness that she was conscious of nothing but the fact that she must control it.  Upon the elastic moorland road wheels stole upon one without sound.  So the wheels of a rapidly driven high cart approached her and were almost at her side before she lifted her head, startled by a sudden consciousness that a vehicle was near her.

It was Lord Walderhurst’s cart, and even as she gazed at him with alarmed wet eyes, his lordship descended from it and made a sign to his groom, who at once impassively drove on.

Emily’s lips tried to tremble into a smile; she put out her hand fumblingly toward the fish-basket, and having secured it, began to rise.

“I—­sat down to rest,” she faltered, even apologetically.  “I walked to Maundell, and it was so hot.”

Just at that moment a little breeze sprang up and swept across her cheek.  She was so grateful that her smile became less difficult.

“I got what Lady Maria wanted,” she added, and the childlike dimple in her cheek endeavoured to defy her eyes.

The Marquis of Walderhurst looked rather odd.  Emily had never seen him look like this before.  He took a silver flask out of his pocket in a matter-of-fact way, and filled its cup with something.

“That is sherry,” he said.  “Please drink it.  You are absolutely faint.”

She held out her hand eagerly.  She could not help it.

“Oh, thank you—­thank you!” she said.  “I am so thirsty!” And she drank it as if it were the nectar of the gods.

“Now, Miss Fox-Seton,” he said, “please sit down again.  I came here to drive you back to Mallowe, and the cart will not come back for a quarter of an hour.”

“You came on purpose!” she exclaimed, feeling, in truth, somewhat awe-struck.  “But how kind of you, Lord Walderhurst—­how good!”