"Except Mercia," I added.
CHAPTER XVII
I pulled up the car just this side of Barham Bridge, and turned her on to the strip of level grass that ran parallel with the road. Mercia seemed to have chosen a pleasantly isolated meeting-place. Away to my right, on the top of a small hill, stood an old weather-beaten, half-ruined windmill; but with this exception, nothing broke the flat monotony of the far-stretching Suffolk pastures.
Opening the gate, I made my way up the rough track, which in more spacious days had apparently been the miller's roadway. It struck me that if Mercia was playing me false, I was offering a really beautiful target to anyone in the mill; but I don't think it can have been this reflection that was sending the blood dancing so cheerfully through my veins.
Anyhow, I strode on briskly till I reached the top, where I took a final glance back to see if I was till unobserved. Then, as I looked round again, I found Mercia. She was standing in the doorway of the mill, pale and beautiful as ever, and at the sight of her my heart gave a great jump that seemed almost like a shout of triumph. It was only with a big effort that I stopped myself from picking her up in my arms and kissing her.
"Ah, it's good to see you again," I said, holding out my hands.
She drew back with a quick, frightened gesture.
"You have not been followed?" she whispered.
I stepped inside. "No," I said; "I came in the car. It's down at the bottom of the hill."