Meanwhile, they had tramped for nearly two hours, and Virginia's powers were giving out. The day was a fine one, and it was the hottest hour. When they reached a stile, overshadowed by the grateful coolness of a huge beech tree in the corner of a lately mown field, she sat down and begged for a few minutes' rest.
"What, done up again? You don't seem to be very strong. We are two miles from home, and if we wait about we shall be late for lunch. Come along now, you can rest when we get back."
"I don't want any lunch," she answered faintly, "but I must rest. Please go on and have lunch yourself, and leave me here awhile in the shade."
"Ha!" he said, delighted at this confirmation of his thoughts. "No, young woman, I think it safer to keep my eye on you."
She made no reply in words. Her eyes were closed, and two tears forced their way beneath the lids and slipped down her cheeks.
He made an exclamation of vexation. "Not good for much, are you?" he grunted. "Comes of eating no breakfast. What am I going to do with you now, I wonder? Why didn't you call a halt before you were completely done for?"
"I didn't think we should go so far," she answered listlessly. She was beyond caring how he felt. She only knew that she could not get up and go on.
The sound of trotting hoofs approaching along the lane beyond the stile was heard. A dog-cart, driven by a pleasant-looking young man, came in sight.
"Good luck!" muttered Gaunt. He raised his voice. "Hallo, Caunter! My wife has been making the rounds with me, and is a bit done up by the heat. Will you get down, and let me drive her home?"
"Why, certainly," said a good-humoured voice, "only too much honoured. May I beg to be presented to Mrs. Gaunt?"