Georgie moistened his lips. “Don’t you remember the Thirty-Mile-Ride—with me—when ‘They’ were after us—on the beach-road, with the sea to the left—going toward the lamp-post on the downs?”
The girl gasped. “What—what do you mean?” she said hysterically.
“The Thirty-Mile-Ride, and—and all the rest of it.”
“You mean—? I didn’t sing anything about the Thirty-Mile-Ride. I know I didn’t. I have never told a living soul.’”
“You told about Policeman Day, and the lamp at the top of the downs, and the City of Sleep. It all joins on, you know—it’s the same country—and it was easy enough to see where you had been.”
“Good God!—It joins on—of course it does; but—I have been—you have been—Oh, let’s walk, please, or I shall fall off!”
Georgie ranged alongside, and laid a hand that shook below her bridle-hand, pulling Dandy into a walk. Miriam was sobbing as he had seen a man sob under the touch of the bullet.
“It’s all right—it’s all right,” he whispered feebly. “Only—only it’s true, you know.”
“True! Am I mad?”
“Not unless I’m mad as well. Do try to think a minute quietly. How could any one conceivably know anything about the Thirty-Mile-Ride having anything to do with you, unless he had been there?”