"Scarcely a week," the girl replied. "We came from Hellesylt."
Browne wondered of whom the we might consist. Was the girl married? He tried to discover whether or not she wore a wedding-ring, but her hand was hidden in the folds her dress.
Five minutes later a cabriole made its appearance, drawn by a shaggy pony and led by a villager. Behind it, and considerably out of breath, toiled a stout and elderly lady, who, as soon as she saw the girl seated on the bank by the roadside, burst into a torrent of speech.
"Russian," said Brown to himself; "her accent puzzled me, but now I understand."
Then turning to the young man, who was experiencing some slight embarrassment at being present at what his instinct told him was a wigging, administered by a lady who was plainly a past mistress at the art, the girl said in English:—
"Permit me to introduce you to my guardian, Madame Bernstein."
The couple bowed ceremoniously to each other, and then Browne and the villager between them lifted the girl into the vehicle, the man took his place at the pony's head, and the strange cortège proceeded on its way down the hill towards the hotel. Once there, Browne prepared to take leave of them. He held out his hand to the girl, who took it.
"Good-bye," he said. "I hope it will not be long before you are able to get about once more."
"Good-bye," she answered; and then, with great seriousness, "Pray, believe that I shall always be grateful to you for the service you have rendered me this afternoon."
There was a little pause. Then, with a nervousness that was by no means usual to him, he added:—