her steps as he had done the other day—­to follow her steps now, as she more than half suspected.  What did he mean?  And what did she mean by her own deportment?  Nothing, she declared to herself:—­but that red squirrels will bite occasionally.  There swept over her, sighing from among the pine trees, the breath of a vague sorrow.  In all the emergencies that might come, in all that future progress, also dim with its own blue haze, what was she to do?  Mr. Falkirk could take care of her property,—­who could take care of her? Deep was the look of her brown eyes, close and controlling the pressure of her lips:  the wrist where the three bracelets lay felt the light grasp of her other hand.

The coach rolled on, through thickening air and darkening sky, air thick also with a smell of smoke which it was odd no one took note of; until the horses trotted round a sudden turn of the road into the very cause of it all.  The blue was spotted now with faint red fire; with dull streaks as of beds of coals, and little sharp points of flame.  On both sides of the road, creeping among the pines and leaping up into them, the fire was raging.  A low sound from Wych Hazel, a sound rather of horror than fear, yet curiously pitiful and heart-stirring, roused both her friends in an instant.  Almost at the same instant the coach came to a standstill, and Rollo jumped out.

‘What’s the matter, Rollo?’

‘Fire in the woods, sir.  We must turn about; that’s all.’

The elder of the two women, who had just waked up, asked with a terrified face, ‘if there was any danger?’ but nobody answered her.  Rollo took his seat again; at the same time the horses’ heads came about.

‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded.

’We are going back a little way.  There is fire along the road ahead of us; and the horses might set their feet upon some hot ashes, which wouldn’t be good for them.’

‘But we’re goin’ back’ards!—­where we come from!  Calry, we’re goin’ back hum!’

‘We shall turn again presently,’ said Rollo.  ’Have patience a few minutes.’

He spoke so calmly, the women were quieted.  Mr. Falkirk, however, leaned back no more.  He watched the hazy smoke by the roadside; he watched generally; and now and then his eye furtively turned to Wych Hazel.  For some little time they travelled back hopefully on their way, though the smoky atmosphere was too thick to let any one forget the obstacle which had turned them.  It grew stifling, breathed so long, and it did not clear away; but though every one noticed this, no one spoke of it to his neighbour.  Then at last it began to weigh down more heavily upon the forest, and visible puffs and curls in the dense blue suggested that its substance was becoming more palpable.

‘Rollo—­’, said Mr. Falkirk in an undertone.

‘Yes!’ said the other, just as the coach again came to a sudden stop and a volley of exclamations, smothered and not smothered, sounded from the coach box.  Both gentlemen sprang out.