Now the young woman did not much like the idea of going down the hill
under the eyes of this person, which she would have to do if she went
on, for as an intruder she was liable to be called back and
questioned upon her business there. Accordingly she crept softly up
and sat in the seat behind, intending to remain there until her
companion should leave.

This he by no means seemed in a hurry to do. What could possibly
have brought him there, what could detain him there, at six o'clock
on a morning of mist when there was nothing to be seen or enjoyed of
the vale beneath, puzzled her not a little. But he remained quite
still, and Margery grew impatient. She discerned the track of his
feet in the dewy grass, forming a line from the house steps, which
announced that he was an inhabitant and not a chance passer-by. At
last she peeped round.



CHAPTER II



A fine-framed dark-mustachioed gentleman, in dressing-gown and
slippers, was sitting there in the damp without a hat on. With one
hand he was tightly grasping his forehead, the other hung over his
knee. The attitude bespoke with sufficient clearness a mental
condition of anguish. He was quite a different being from any of the
men to whom her eyes were accustomed. She had never seen mustachios
before, for they were not worn by civilians in Lower Wessex at this
date. His hands and his face were white--to her view deadly white--