“You who died to-day—­do not leave me,” was Betty’s inward cry, and she dropped her face on her knees.

“I am not a pleasant-tempered fellow, as you know, and I am losing my hold on myself.  The wind is blowing the mist away, and there will be a moon.  I shall find you, my good girl, in half an hour’s time—­and then we shall be jolly well even.”

She had not dropped her whip, and she held it tight.  If, when the moonlight revealed the pile of hop poles to him, he suspected and sprang at them to tear them away, she would be given strength to make one spring, even in her agony, and she would strike at his eyes—­awfully, without one touch of compunction—­she would strike—­strike.

There was a brief silence, and then a match was struck again, and almost immediately she inhaled the fragrance of an excellent cigar.

“I am going to have a comfortable smoke and stroll about—­always within sight and hearing.  I daresay you are watching me, and wondering what will happen when I discover you, I can tell you what will happen.  You are not a hysterical girl, but you will go into hysterics—­and no one will hear you.”

(All the power of her—­body and soul—­in one leap on him and then a lash that would cut to the bone.  And it was not a nightmare—­and Rosy was at Stornham, and her father looking over steamer lists and choosing his staterooms.)

He walked about slowly, the scent of his cigar floating behind him.  She noticed, as she had done more than once before, that he seemed to slightly drag one foot, and she wondered why.  The wind was blowing the mist away, and there was a faint growing of light.  The moon was not full, but young, and yet it would make a difference.  But the upper part of the hedge grew thick and close to the heap of wood, and, but for her fall, she would never have dreamed of the refuge.

She could only guess at his movements, but his footsteps gave some clue.  He was examining the ground in as far as the darkness would allow.  He went into the shed and round about it, he opened the door of the tiny coal lodge, and looked again into the small back kitchen.  He came near—­nearer—­so near once that, bending sidewise, she could have put out a hand and touched him.  He stood quite still, then made a step or so away, stood still again, and burst into a laugh once more.

“Oh, you are here, are you?” he said.  “You are a fine big girl to be able to crowd yourself into a place like that!”

Hot and cold dew stood out on her forehead and made her hair damp as she held her whip hard.

“Come out, my dear!” alluringly.  “It is not too soon.  Or do you prefer that I should assist you?”

Her heart stood quite still—­quite.  He was standing by the wigwam of hop poles and thought she had hidden herself inside it.  Her place under the hedge he had not even glanced at.

She knew he bent down and thrust his arm into the wigwam, for his fury at the result expressed itself plainly enough.  That he had made a fool of himself was worse to him than all else.  He actually wheeled about and strode away to the house.