“It’s only a little after six.  It isn’t night at all.”

“But the tea, ma’am!  And Master Robin’s so regular in his habits.  He’ll be fair famished, ma’am, that he will.  I——­Well, ma’am, if I may say it, I really don’t hold with all this shooting, and sport, and what not for such young children.”

“It’s only just for once, Nurse.  Go in now.  You’ll catch cold.”

“But yourself, ma’am?”

“I’m quite warm.  I’d rather stay out.”

Nurse stared anxiously for a moment, then turned away and went gingerly back to the house.  Her white shawl faded against the background of darkness.  With its fading Rosamund entered into—­not exactly darkness, but into deep shadows.  She supposed that nurse’s fear had communicated itself to her; she had caught the infection of fear from nurse.  But when was nurse not afraid?  She was an excellent woman and absolutely devoted to Robin, but she was not a Spartan.  She leaped at sight of a mouse, and imagined diseases to be for ever floating Robinwards on all the breezes.  Rosamund had strictly forbidden her ever to talk nonsense about illness to Robin, and she had obeyed.  But that was her one fault; she had a timorous nature.

Rosamund wished nurse had not come out into the garden to infect her with foolish fear.

Nurse’s invitation to her to come into the house had made her suddenly know that to be shut in would be intolerable to her.  Why was that?  She now knew that lately, while she had been walking in the garden, she had been straining her ears to hear the sound of wheels in the Green Court.  She knew she would be able to hear them in the garden.  In the house that would be impossible.  Therefore she could not go into the house till Robin came back.

All her fear was for Robin.  He was so young, so tiny.  Perhaps she ought not to have allowed him to go.  Perhaps nurse was right, and such an expedition ought to have been ruled out as soon as it was suggested.  Perhaps Dion and she had been altogether too Doric.  She began to think so.  But then she thought:  “Robin’s with his father.  What harm could come to him with his father, and such a competent father too?” That thought of Dion’s strength, coolness, competency reassured her; she dwelt on it.  Of course with Dion Robin must be all right.

Presently, leaving the path in front of the house, she went again to the seat hidden away behind the shrubs against the wall which separated the garden from the Dark Entry.  This dark entry was an arched corridor of stone which led directly from the Green Court to the passage-way on which the main door of the garden opened.  It was paved with worn slabs of stone upon which the feet of any one passing rang with a mournful and hollow sound.  A tiny path skirted the garden wall, running between the hidden seat and the small belt of shrubs which shut out a view of the house.  Just before she turned into this path Rosamund looked back at the old house, and