Half an hour’s walking brought him to a wide expanse of moorland, as lonely a spot as can well be imagined. Behind him lay Byestry and the sea; to his left, also, lay the sea, since the coast took a deep turn northwards about three miles or so to the west of Byestry; to the right, and far distant, lay Woodleigh. Before him was the moorland, covered with heather and gorse bushes. About half a mile distant it descended in a gentle decline, possibly to some hidden village below, since a broadish grass path, or species of roadway bearing wheel tracts, showed that, despite its present loneliness, it was at times traversed by human beings.
Antony sat down by a gorse bush, whose golden flowers were scenting the air with a sweet aromatic scent. Mingling with their scent was the scent of thyme and heather, and the hot scent of the sunbaked earth. Bees boomed lazily in the still air, and far off was the faint melodious note of the ever-moving sea. The sun was hot and the droning of the bees drowsy in its insistence. After a few moments Antony stretched himself comfortably on the heather, and slept.
A slight sound roused him, and he sat up, for the first moment barely realizing his whereabouts. Then he saw the source of the sound which had awakened him. Coming along the grass path, and not fifty paces from him, was a small pony and trap, driven by a woman. Antony looked towards it, and, as he looked, he felt his heart jump, leap, and set off pounding at a terrible rate.
In two minutes the trap was abreast him, and the little Dartmoor pony was brought to a sudden standstill. Antony had got to his feet.
“Mr. Gray,” exclaimed an astonished voice, though very assuredly there was a note of keen delight mingled with the astonishment.
Antony pulled off his cap.
“Fancy meeting you here!” cried the Duchessa di Donatello. “Why ever didn’t you let me know that you were in these parts? Or, perhaps you have only just arrived, and were going to come and see me?”
There was the fraction of a pause. Then,
“I’ve been at Byestry since the beginning of May,” said Antony.
“At Byestry,” exclaimed the Duchessa. “But why ever didn’t you tell me when you wrote, instead of saying it was impossible to come and see me?”