They scarcely spoke during that journey. Only once, towards the end of it, Ernestine asked him if he were tired, and he scouted the idea with a laugh.
When they reached the caravan, and he set her down upon the step, she thanked him meekly.
"We will have tea," said Rivington, and proceeded to forage for the necessaries for this meal in a locker inside the caravan.
He brought out a spirit-lamp and boiled some water. The actual making of the tea he relegated to Ernestine.
"A woman does it better than a man," he said.
And while she was thus occupied, he produced cups and saucers, and a tin of biscuits, and laid the cloth. Finally, he seated himself on the grass below her, and began with evident enjoyment to partake with her of the meal thus provided.
When it was over, he washed up, she drying the cups and saucers, and striving with somewhat doubtful success to appear normal and unconstrained.
"Do you mind if I smoke?" he asked, at the end of this.
"Of course not," she answered, and he brought out the briar pipe forthwith.
She watched him fill and light it, her chin upon her hand. She was still very pale, and the fear had not gone wholly from her eyes.