He tethered the horses out of the wind, and, turning back, found her beside him.

“It’s creepy here,” she said.

“We’ll find a snug place, and sit down.”

He put his hand through her arm, and they moved round the foot of the mound.

“Here,” said Jon suddenly; “they’ve been digging. This’ll be sheltered.” He felt the ground—dry enough. “Let’s squat here and talk.”

Side by side, with their backs to the wall of the excavated hollow, they lighted cigarettes, and sat listening to the silence. But for a snuffle or soft stamp now and then from the horses, there was not a sound. Trees and wind, both, were too sparse for melody, and nothing but their two selves and their horses seemed alive. A sprinkle of stars in a very dark sky and the deeper blackness of the pine stems was all they could see. Ah! and the glowing tips of their cigarettes, and each other’s faces thereby illumined, now and then.

“I don’t expect you’ll ever forgive me for this,” said Jon, with gloom.

“Why! I’m just loving it.”

“Very sweet of you to say so; but you must be awfully cold. Look here—have my coat!”

He had begun to take it off when she said: “If you do that I’ll run out into the woods and get really lost.”

Jon resumed his coat.

“It might have been one of those Blair girls,” he said.

“Would you rather?”

“For your sake, of course. Not for my own—no, indeed!”

They were looking round at each other so that the tips of their cigarettes were almost touching. Just able to see her eyes, he had a very distinct impulse to put his arm round her. It seemed the natural and proper thing to do, but of course it was not “done”!

“Have some chocolate,” she said.

Jon ate a very little. The chocolate should be reserved for her!

“This is a real adventure. It IS black. I’d have been scared alone—seems kind of spooky here.”