It was over. The world that had stood at gaze like Joshua's moon on Ajalon, swung on once more her dance among the stars.
Melicent stood there, in the fair June evening, at the side of the man who had kissed her. The wind came softly over meadows deep in buttercups, and bent the white lacy sprays of delicate wild parsley which fringed them. High in the blue sky the lark stormed heaven's gate with song.
"Let me go!" she cried, with a stifled sob. "I must go! Don't you see that I must?"
It was a moment before he replied; but when he did, his voice was perfectly composed and cool.
"As soon as you feel the pressure of my hands relax, slip yours downwards," he said.
A moment later she was free.
"There! Oh, why couldn't you do that before?" she cried passionately, as she made a frantic onslaught upon the crumbling side of the pit.
She was up and away in a minute, her white frock soaked, her feet caked in pale yellow mud. She ran across the grass, never stopping to look behind, and met the bewildered Alfred just at the edge of the plantation.
"Hurry to the Captain," she gasped. "The water has started to run and he can't stop it. I must go home and change!"
Her throat was so dry she could hardly speak. In feverish, stumbling haste she mounted her bicycle, and rode down the bumpy grass slope at a dangerous pace. Mercifully the gate into the lane stood wide, and she was through it and back at the cottage in a couple of minutes.