He turned the sharp corner, and disappeared.  For two or three minutes Nancy stood alone, watching the patient little grey beasts, whose pendent ears, with many a turn and twitch, expressed their joy in the feast of thistles.  She watched them in seeming only; her eyes beheld nothing.

A voice sounded from behind her—­’Nancy!’ Startled, she saw Tarrant standing high up, in a gap of the hedge, on the bank which bordered the wood.

‘How did you get there?’

‘Went round.’  He showed the direction with his hand.  ’I can see no one, but somebody may come.  It’s wonderful here, among the trees.  Come over.’

‘How can I?—­We will drive the donkeys away.’

’No; it’s much better here; a wild wood, full of wonderful things.  The bank isn’t too steep.  Give me your hand, and you can step up easily, just at this place.’

She drew near.

‘Your sunshade first.’

‘Oh, it’s too much trouble,’ she said languidly, all but plaintively.  ‘I’d rather be here.’

‘Obey!—­Your sunshade—­’

She gave it.

‘Now, your hand.’

He was kneeling on the top of the bank.  With very little exertion, Nancy found herself beside him.  Then he at once leapt down among the brushwood, a descent of some three feet.

‘We shall be trespassing,’ said Nancy.

‘What do I care?  Now, jump!’

‘As if you could catch me!’ Again she uttered her nervous laugh.  ’I am heavy.’

‘Obey!  Jump!’ he cried impatiently, his eyes afire.

She knelt, seated herself, dropped forward.  Tarrant caught her in his arms.

’You heavy! a feather weight!  Why, I can carry you; I could run with you.’

And he did carry her through the brushwood, away into the shadow of the trees.

At dinner-time, Mrs. Morgan and her daughter were alone.  They agreed to wait a quarter of an hour, and sat silent, pretending each to be engaged with a book.  At length their eyes met.

‘What does it mean, Jessica?’ asked the mother timidly.

’I’m sure I don’t know.  It doesn’t concern us.  She didn’t mean to be back, by what she said.’

‘But—­isn’t it rather—?’

’Oh, Nancy is all right.  I suppose she’ll have something to tell you, to-night or to-morrow.  We must have dinner; I’m hungry.’

’So am I, dear.—­Oh, I’m quite afraid to think of the appetites we’re taking back.  Poor Milly will be terrified.’

Eight o’clock, nine o’clock.  The two conversed in subdued voices; Mrs. Morgan was anxious, all but distressed.  Half-past nine.  ’What can it mean, Jessica?  I can’t help feeling a responsibility.  After all, Nancy is quite a young girl; and I’ve sometimes thought she might be steadier.’

‘Hush!  That was a knock.’

They waited.  In a minute or two the door was opened a few inches, and a voice called ‘Jessica!’

She responded.  Nancy was standing in the gloom.