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When Samson withdrew, Rowton went calmly on with his breakfast. He then returned to his bedroom and completely altered his dress. His rough Norfolk suit was exchanged for that which a gentleman might wear in town. Five minutes later he issued from the Bungalow, looking like a very handsome, well set-up young man. Samson, who was grooming one of the horses, raised his head to watch him from behind the hedge. When he saw his master’s get-up, he grinned from ear to ear.

“Now what’s in the wind?” he said, under his breath; aloud he called out:

“Do you want the horse?”

“Not this morning.”

“You ain’t helped me with the boxes.”

“True, I had forgotten; I will help you when I come back. I am going to see Miss Follett.”

Samson grinned again, but he took care now to withdraw his head from any chance of Rowton’s observation.

The morning was clear and frosty; the storm of the night before had completely spent itself; the sky overhead was a watery blue, and the ground beneath felt crisp under Rowton’s feet as he walked. He quickly reached the Grange, and taking a short cut to the house, soon found himself on the lawn, where he had tied Satyr the night before. The door of the old Grange was wide open and Nancy stood on the steps. She heard her lover’s footsteps and greeted him with a very faint smile, which quickly vanished. Her face was ghastly white and red rims disfigured her beautiful grey eyes.