Mary jumped up. “What are we to do with the boy?”
“Oh, he’ll sleep for an hour yet. We’ll fetch him when his grub’s ready. You must help me, you know, now you’re here.”
“Of course,” she said, and walked by him, carrying her hat in her hand. “Are you surprised to see me?” she must needs ask him.
Senhouse raised his eyebrows. “No—I won’t say that. I should like to know why you came, though. No trouble, I hope?”
She looked at him, radiant. “No trouble now. I saw your trail—your patteran—in London.”
He started. “No, indeed, you did not. I haven’t been near London since I saw you there. I came straight here by train. But I’ll tell you a curious thing. Three nights ago I dreamed of you.”
Her eyes shone. “Tell me your dream.” But he would not, and she could not make him.
Past Sprinkling Tarn, and by the pass which hangs round about the Great Gable, he led her to a green plateau, high above the track, where she could see the tent. Bingo stood up and barked a welcome short and sharp. Then he came scrambling down the scree to meet her, knew her again immediately, and was profusely happy to see her. It was all like coming home for the holidays. She turned her glowing face to Senhouse, and her brimming eyes.
“Oh, why are you so good to me, you two?” she asked him, with Bingo’s head and fore-quarters in her lap.
“Why not?” said Senhouse.