She had turned with him, and they were now walking together between
the tall, straight stems of the trees.

"I'm a Londoner," said Merriman slowly. "I wonder if we have any
mutual acquaintances?"

"It's hardly likely. Since my mother died some years ago we have
lived very quietly, and gone out very little."

Merriman did not wish to appear inquisitive. He made a suitable
reply and, turning the conversation to the country, told her of his
day's ride. She listened eagerly, and it was borne in upon him
that she was lonely, and delighted to have anyone to talk to. She
certainly seemed a charming girl, simple, natural and friendly, and
obviously a lady.

But soon their walk came to an end. Some quarter of a mile from
the wood the lane debouched into a large, D-shaped clearing. It
had evidently been recently made, for the tops of many of the
tree-stumps dotted thickly over the ground were still white. Round
the semicircle of the forest trees were lying cut, some with their
branches still intact, others stripped clear to long, straight
poles. Two small gangs of men were at work, one felling, the other
lopping.

Across the clearing, forming its other boundary and the straight
side of the D, ran a river, apparently from its direction that
which Merriman had looked down on from the road bridge. It was
wider here, a fine stretch of water, though still dark colored and
uninviting from the shadow of the trees. On its bank, forming a