Her impulse was to run, but she restrained it, dreading lest she might precipitate the disaster she feared.  Hudson must not suspect her intention, must not know of the panic at her heart.

Nap did not see her at once.  The background of trees obscured her.  But as she drew away from them he caught sight of her, and instantly quickened his pace.

They met scarcely fifty yards from the cedar, and breathlessly Anne spoke.  “Turn back with me a little way.  I have something to say to you.”

He wheeled at once, with no show of surprise.  Though he must have seen her agitation he did not ask its cause.

They walked several paces before Anne spoke again.  “You will think me very strange, but I have had a fright.  I—­I want you, Nap, to—­to understand and not think me foolish or laugh at me.”

“I couldn’t do either if I tried,” said Nap.  “Who has been frightening you?  Tawny Hudson?”

“Yes, Tawny Hudson.”  Anne was still breathless; she glanced nervously over her shoulder.  “Shall we walk a little faster?  He—­he is lurking in those trees, and do you know I don’t think he is safe?  I think—­I can’t help thinking—­that he is lying in wait for you to—­to do you a mischief.”

Nap stopped dead.  “That so?  Then I reckon I will go and deal with him at once.”

“Oh, no!” she gasped.  “No!  Nap, are you mad?”

He gave her a queer look.  “By no means, Lady Carfax, though I believe I should be if I went any farther with you.  You stay here while I go and investigate.”

He would have left her with the words, but on the instant desperation seized Anne.  Her strained nerves would not bear this.  She caught his arm, holding him fast.

“You must not!  You shall not!  Or if you do I am coming with you.  You—­you are not going alone.”

“I am going alone,” Nap said; but he stood still, facing her, watching her as he had watched her on that day long ago when he had lain helpless in her arms in the snow, the day that revelation had first come to her shrinking heart.  “I am going alone,” he repeated very deliberately.  “And you will wait here till I come back.”

She felt that he was putting forth his strength to compel her, and something within her warned her that he was stronger in that moment than she.  She did not understand his ascendency over her, but she could not help being aware of it.  Her agitated hold upon his arm began to slacken.

“Oh, don’t go!” she entreated weakly.  “Please don’t go!  I can’t bear it.  It—­it’s too much.  Nap, if—­if any harm comes to you, I—­I think it will kill me.”

There came a sudden gleam in his sombre eyes that seemed to stab her, but it was gone instantly, before he spoke in answer.

“Lady Carfax, you are not foolish—­you are sublime!  But—­be wise as well.”  Very quietly he extricated his arm from her clinging hands and turned to go.  “Don’t watch me,” he said.  “Go on to the bridge and wait for me there.”