He gave a sharp look at her and called to Dapple. The horse pulled himself together and broke into a brisk trot, which continued for hard upon half a mile before either occupant of the gig broke silence.
For Doctor Unonius was considering. Though a student he was a man of considerable courage and cool-headed in emergency, as he was now not a little pleased to prove, for hitherto life had provided few emergencies to test him. But here was an emergency, and—at this time of night, and in this place—it looked to be an ugly one. He had to deal with a discovery, and the discovery was this.
The hand he had just gripped was no woman's at all, but the hand of a man.
He stole another glance at his companion. She, or he, was leaning forward in a huddled attitude to meet the wind which now, as they rounded an edge of the down, blew crosswise athwart the gig and a little ahead. Nothing of face could be seen, only—and this dimly by the starshine—the hand that grasped the shawl. But it was enough; a man's hand, the doctor could almost swear. He recognised this with a slight thrill. He was not afraid, but he was undeniably excited.
What on earth should a man be doing in woman's clothes, on this road and at this hour? The road led no whither but to Polpeor and the coast, and passed on its way no human habitation but Landeweddy Farm and a couple of cottages half a mile beyond it, close under the dip of the hill. . . .
'You are shivering,' said Doctor Unonius, after a pause.
The crouching figure nodded, but did not speak.
'Are you cold? Here, take some more of the rug.'
For a moment there was no answer, then a shake of the head.
'Ill, then? Feverish? I am a doctor: let me feel your pulse.'