The Girls of Chequertrees

by Marion St. John Webb

Meanwhile, Pamela, when the other three left her, had first of all explored the mill and then settled down to her work. That the mill was partly ruined and wholly deserted made matters perfect, according to Pamela's ideas. She wandered up to the open doorway and looked inside. Bricks and dust and broken timber within—nothing else. It was quite light inside, owing to the many holes in the walls. Pamela stepped cautiously in, picking her way through the dust and dried leaves that had drifted in, and over the loose bricks and wooden laths, and clambering on to a small mound of accumulated dust and rubbish she looked through one of the holes in the wall at the magnificent sweep of country stretching away downhill to the little cup in the hill-side where Barrowfield lay. She could see the smoke rising up from the houses in the village; and beyond this, on the farthest side of the cup, a range of tree-clad hills closed the view. Barrowfield was not in a valley, but in a little hollow among the hills.

On the other hand, Inchmoor, which could be located from a hole in the other side of the windmill, was certainly down in a valley; the road leading to the market town was only visible for a short distance beyond the mill; it twisted and curved and then dived out of sight—to become visible again far in the distance when about to enter Inchmoor. Pamela, gazing from the hill-top, could not see anything of the three girls on their way to Inchmoor, as they were already hidden from her sight by a bend in the road.

But when she went back to her former position and took a final look over Barrowfield way before starting work, her eye caught sight of a figure coming rapidly up the hill, along the lane which the girls had just traversed. Being the only living thing in sight at the moment, Pamela watched the figure until it was hidden from her sight for a few minutes by the tall hedges that grew at the sides of the lane. She was not particularly interested in the figure, but had noticed casually that it was a woman, and that the woman appeared to have a slight limp. When she lost sight of her Pamela came out of the old windmill, and taking up the position she had chosen for making her sketch, she got everything ready and set to, and was soon absorbed in her work.

How long she had been sketching before she became aware that some one was standing watching her Pamela did not know. It was probably a considerable time, but she was so engrossed in what she was doing that she had not heard footsteps passing in the lane behind her—footsteps that ceased suddenly, while a woman dressed all in black and wearing a black hat with a heavy veil over her face, and a thick silk muffler wound round her neck and shoulders, stopped and stood gazing with a strange and curiously vindictive look at the unconscious Pamela.

Suddenly, without any other reason except that queer, sub-conscious feeling that one is being watched, Pamela shivered and looked quickly round over her shoulder—and saw the woman in the lane.

As soon as Pamela stirred the woman turned her head away and moved on, hastily limping forward up the hill.

Pamela, in accordance with the usual country custom, called out in a friendly tone, "Good-day."

The woman made no reply, but continued her limping walk, and was quickly out of sight.

"I suppose she didn't hear. P'r'aps she's deaf," said Pamela to herself, and thought no more about it.

Could she have seen the expression on the woman's face as she stood in the lane a few minutes earlier, watching, Pamela would not have resumed her work with a mind as free from curiosity as she did.