"You have an amazing imagination, my dearest Mark? That man in homespun, and a red tie! He's twice Mark's size, and he wears a beard. I noticed him just now. Mark? Why Mark's in Sutherland."
"I was mistaken," said Betty absently. She walked on quite sure that the man's eyes were following her. She was sure of it, although her back was turned to him. A minute before Archibald had asked her if she would like a tea-basket. The refreshment-room was just opposite. An impulse seized her.
"I think I should like a tea-basket," she said, pausing. "Will you get one? I'll go back to the carriage."
Archibald obeyed, unsuspecting. Betty turned and ran to the bookstall. The man was no longer there. She looked right and left. That was he—disappearing, melting into the crowd outside. Without a moment's hesitation she hastened after him, came up behind, plucked at his cape. He turned at once. It was Mark.
"You?" she gasped. "You—here?"
Her eyes, wide open, glaring interrogation, fell before his. He took her hand, grasping it firmly.
"I can explain. I heard of your plans from Mrs. Samphire. I knew that you were leaving by this train. I came on the off chance of getting a glimpse of you."
"You are well, strong!"
She raised her eyes, devouring him. He could see that people in the crowd were nudging each other, grinning and pointing. He drew her aside.
"Yes; I am strong." As he said it, he realised that he would need all his strength. What a mad fool he had been to come, to risk so much. "Look here," he said harshly, "you must go back to Archie. Tell him—tell him that I couldn't come to his wedding, because, b-b-because I've left the Church. I wasn't going to set every tongue wagging in Slowshire. Do you see? Do you understand? Now—go—run!"