"We'll ride up here to the road, then," said Gheena dejectedly; "we pass the Wireless Station this way." She added that it was nine miles home, and she wondered where her young horse and Hook had got to.
"He made a good hand of that young horse," said Gheena reflectively. "If you could leave him here for a week any time I wouldn't mind at all."
The rain cleared off, leaving them both in the dripping stage with the wind drying them in chilly gusts. The horses stepped carefully on the pointed flints, cheering up as they turned on a twisty road between high banks, with the Wireless Station close by.
Here, as they jogged on, they were astonished to see a khaki-coloured car draw up at the door and Hook just coming out with a coastguard.
"Lost everything, sir," he explained, "and hopped into the car to look for you. Hunt reported in this direction, so I came to inquire."
Gheena looked thoughtful. Strangers were not admitted to the portals as a rule.
The coastguard's suggestion of fire and shelter for the horses sounded tempting. There were sheds at the back where an old farm had stood. Hook led the horses away, and Gheena felt gladly the scorch of cheeks which a hot room brings after a battering in the open air.
The coastguard's room was a typical one, ornamented with large conch shells and lumps of coral, and everything arranged with sailor's neatness.
They only stayed for a few minutes. General Brownlow was rheumatic and exceedingly damp, and as they watched the gate, they saw Violet Weston, her hunting hat changed for a picturesque hood, her bright colouring outlined in white furs and her expression one of piteous entreaty.
She had driven round to look for Gheena and her car had gone out. It would not start without the battery, which seemed run down. If they could put it on for half an hour she would wait. Then she saw Gheena and repeated her piteous tale. Hook, just behind, dropped off Whitebird and came forward. He respectfully suggested that he might start the car or set things right.