journey was resumed immediately. Her companion never descended to
speak to her; whenever she looked out there he sat upright on his
perch, with the mien of a person who had a difficult duty to perform,
and who meant to perform it properly at all costs. But Margery could
not help feeling a certain dread at her situation--almost, indeed, a
wish that she had not come. Once or twice she thought, 'Suppose he
is a wicked man, who is taking me off to a foreign country, and will
never bring me home again.'

But her characteristic persistence in an original idea sustained her
against these misgivings except at odd moments. One incident in
particular had given her confidence in her escort: she had seen a
tear in his eye when she expressed her sorrow for his troubles. He
may have divined that her thoughts would take an uneasy turn, for
when they stopped for a moment in ascending a hill he came to the
window. 'Are you tired, Margery?' he asked kindly.

'No, sir.'

'Are you afraid?'

'N--no, sir. But it is a long way.'

'We are almost there,' he answered. 'And now, Margery,' he said in a
lower tone, 'I must tell you a secret. I have obtained this
invitation in a peculiar way. I thought it best for your sake not to
come in my own name, and this is how I have managed. A man in this
county, for whom I have lately done a service, one whom I can trust,
and who is personally as unknown here as you and I, has (privately)
transferred his card of invitation to me. So that we go under his