She stopped, looking inquiringly at Ruth, who had drawn closer to Peter.

“Peter, we might have—”

She shuddered.

“Sh!” commanded Peter, squeezing her hand. “Mrs. Tippit, which is the quickest way to get to Red Roofs?”

“Your quickest way to find Miss Bride, sir, is to go through the woods. She’s more likely to be there than anywhere. If she isn’t, you've only to keep on towards the west, and you'll come to Red Roofs. ’Twon’t take you long. By the time you’re back, I’ll have lunch ready for you. A nice chicken, sir, with a raspberry pie to follow. It’s in the oven now.”

“Topping!” said Peter. “I’ll leave it all to you, Mrs. Tippit.”

“An’ you couldn't do better,” said the beaming landlady.

III.

THEY went through the beech-wood, hand-in-hand, along the same cutting that Peter had trodden a fortnight before, in a mood so black that he had not smiled when a bob-tailed rabbit scuttled comically across the path. He and Ruth went slowly now, and their conversation was very private.

Seated on the stump of a tree, against a background of soft green foliage, they found Bride twining daisies into a long chain. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, and the daisies tumbled to the ground as she sprang to her feet. She would have run away into the bushes, had not Peter stepped forward with hands outstretched.

“Little Bride! Have you forgotten me? Don’t go away!”

She paused on tiptoe, looking from him to Ruth. Her hands were clasped behind her; she stood half turned away, in the attitude that Peter remembered so well, poised for flight.

“Have you forgotten the poor wretch whom you comforted, Bride? I’ve come to thank you.”

The elfish little smile peeped out. Bride came forward, dancing.

“Yes, I remember. Of course, I remember. Did you—oh, did you go back to her?”

“Thanks to you, little lady. Here ‘she’ is—come with me to tell you that it’s all right again.”

Bride nodded and smiled to Ruth.

“I am so glad! I could not bear to see you so unhappy. It hurt me so. Do you understand, I wonder?”

She had drawn closer to Ruth, and sank down on her knees now, waving to Ruth to sit down on the tree-stump.

“I do understand.” Ruth stretched out her hand. “And I’m—so very sorry!”

“For me?” The little lady looked up at her wonderingly. “It’s so long ago! Too long to remember! And you—you are happy now?”

“Very, very happy,” Ruth answered. “But if it had not been for you, we should both have been miserable still.”

The little lady came to her feet. She pressed her hands to her eyes, hiding them, but they saw her lips quiver.

“That hurts, too. You are happy, and you don’t want me.” Her hands came away, and she was smiling again. “Never mind, I’m not real, you know. I died—oh, long, long ago! Thank you for coming.”

She kissed her fingers to them, and danced back, laughing a little.