But in the middle of her talk of Duntarvie, she became aware that Carl was looking at her with a thoughtfulness not caused by her words.

“Meet us at Auchtermuchty to-morrow,” he said as she faltered into silence. “See your Duntarvie if you must. Look your fill. I see you have to go. But get your memories over and be done with them. Stay the night at your village, and in the morning walk across and join us. We shall wait for you. Here is the name of our inn. But you will probably find me sketching the town hall and Lawrence looking for Roman rubbish.”

He watched her closely.

“I told my Aunt that I should be back in time for dinner to-night.”

“O! La, la! The Aunt!” laughed Carl. “You send her a telegram.”

“Do you think I should? But truly, Carl?” Her whole being seemed arrested, waiting for his answer.

“I have suggested it, perhaps wrongly. The matter is one you must decide for yourself,” Carl replied after a moment.

“But I cannot decide anything these days. You must help me, Carl. Do, please help me!” she begged him most earnestly.

“Are you a free woman?”

At his so abrupt question a very billow of blood swept over her from head to foot, but she raised her suffused eyes and faced him bravely.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m free – quite, quite free … but I know nothing … and I am so weak. I know nothing, nothing! I can’t tell what I should do. I’m blown by any wind. There seems no life in me.”

Carl took her shaking hand and patted it kindly.

“Go, send the telegram,” he bade her as if it were a child he spoke to. “I’m heartily glad of what you tell me. More glad than I can say. Go send the telegram. I meet you at the train. It seems we go so far together.”

Joanna lost no time, but she was not flurried. In spite of her grave face, her steps to the telegraph office were set almost to a dancing rhythm. Dear Carl! Dear, good Carl. What had she ever done to deserve such a friend?