THE YELLOW DOVE
Go back to London tomorrow with Jack Sandys and don’t let him leave you until you’re safe at Ashwater Park. Where’s your horse?”
She told him and followed blindly.
“Where are you going, Cyril?” she pleaded.
“It doesn’t matter.”
He found the horse and untied the bridle.
“Tell me, Cyril. I’ve earned the right to know.”
“Something has happened,” he said quietly, “which has put all my plans in danger”
“And you?”
“Yes. The thing I’ve been trying to do may fail. It hangs or falls by this issue.”
“But what—what?”
“You can’t know that,” he said quickly. “Don’t ask me anything more. I can’t answer. But trust in me if you can. Trust in me, Doris, and if you love me—silence!”
He gave her a lift into the saddle and kissed her hand. Then he looked around him and gave a parting injunction.
“Now cut sharp off to the right in the darkness until you strike the old sheep trail. You can see it quite plainly in the heather. Follow it to the head of the ridge, then take the road to Horsham Hill. Good-by and God bless you.”
A sob rose in her throat and she could only wave a hand in reply. And so she left him standing there alone gazing after her with bared head in the darkness. The strain on her nerves had told on her and she sat her side-saddle listlessly holding on by the pommel, and peering into the darkness before her, with eyes that saw nothing but pictures of death. She could not forget the wounded man grasping at space as he
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