She had only
half-consciously seen the spinney. Nigel was swearing at the horses.
Having got Childe Harold into the shed, there seemed to be nothing
to fasten his bridle to. And he had yet to bring his own horse in and
secure him. She must get away somewhere before the delay was over.
How dark it was growing! Thank God for that again! What was the rather
high, dark object she could trace in the dimness near the hedge? It was
sharply pointed, is if it were a narrow tent. Her heart began to beat
like a drum as she recalled something. It was the shape of the sort
of wigwam structure made of hop poles, after they were taken from the
fields. If there was space between it and the hedge--even a narrow
space--and she could crouch there? Nigel was furious because Childe
Harold was backing, plunging, and snorting dangerously. She halted
forward, shutting her teeth in her terrible pain. She could scarcely
see, and did not recognise that near the wigwam was a pile of hop poles
laid on top of each other horizontally. It was not quite as high as the
hedge whose dark background prevented its being seen. Only a few steps
more. No, she was awake--in a nightmare one felt only terror, not pain.
"YOU, WHO DIED TO-DAY," she murmured.
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