and he heeded nothing outside his own existence. There he remained
as motionless as the bushes around him; indeed, he scarcely seemed to
breathe.

Having imprudently advanced thus far, Margery's wish was to get back
again in the same unseen manner; but in moving her foot for the
purpose it grated on the gravel. He started up with an air of
bewilderment, and slipped something into the pocket of his dressing-
gown. She was almost certain that it was a pistol. The pair stood
looking blankly at each other.

'My Gott, who are you?' he asked sternly, and with not altogether an
English articulation. 'What do you do here?'

Margery had already begun to be frightened at her boldness in
invading the lawn and pleasure-seat. The house had a master, and she
had not known of it. 'My name is Margaret Tucker, sir,' she said
meekly. 'My father is Dairyman Tucker. We live at Silverthorn
Dairy-house.'

'What were you doing here at this hour of the morning?'

She told him, even to the fact that she had climbed over the fence.

'And what made you peep round at me?'

'I saw your elbow, sir; and I wondered what you were doing?'

'And what was I doing?'