The farmer took no note
of him, but the watcher saw the farmer, and with swift, cat-like tread
he followed him.
IX
IN FEAR OF THE ENEMY
All the way home the memory of those eyes haunted Ernestine. All the way
home her ears were straining to catch the hoot of a motor-horn and the
rush of wheels behind them.
But no motor overtook them. Nothing happened to disturb the smiling
peace of that summer afternoon.
Back in her little room under the thatch she flung herself face
downwards on the bed, and lay tense. What should she do? What should she
do? He had seen her. He was on her track. Sooner or later he would run
her to earth. And she--what could she do?
For a long while she lay there, too horror-stricken to move, while over
and over again there passed through her aching brain the memory of those
eyes. Did he guess that she had come there to hide from him? Had he been
hunting her for long?
She moved at length, sat up stiffly, and felt something crackle inside
her dress. With a little start she realised what it was, and drew forth
Rivington's letter.
A great sigh broke from her as she opened and read it once again.
A little later she ran swiftly downstairs with a folded paper in her
hand. Out into the blinding sunshine, bareheaded, she ran, never pausing
till she turned into the lily-decked garden of the post-office.
She was trembling all over as she handed in her message, but as it
ticked away a sensation of immense relief stole over her.
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