‘Picotee, put your things on again,’ she said.  ’You are the only friend I have in this house, and I want one badly.  Go to Sol, and deliver this message to him—­that I want to see him at once.  You must overtake him, if you walk all the way to Anglebury.  But the train does not leave till four, so that there is plenty of time.’

‘What is the matter?’ said Picotee.  ‘I cannot walk all the way.’

‘I don’t think you will have to do that—­I hope not.’

’He is going to stop at Corvsgate to have a bit of lunch:  I might overtake him there, if I must!’

’Yes.  And tell him to come to the east passage door.  It is that door next to the entrance to the stable-yard.  There is a little yew-tree outside it.  On second thoughts you, dear, must not come back.  Wait at Corvsgate in the little inn parlour till Sol comes to you again.  You will probably then have to go home to London alone; but do not mind it.  The worst part for you will be in going from the station to the Crescent; but nobody will molest you in a four-wheel cab:  you have done it before.  However, he will tell you if this is necessary when he gets back.  I can best fight my battles alone.  You shall have a letter from me the day after to-morrow, stating where I am.  I shall not be here.’

‘But what is it so dreadful?’

‘Nothing to frighten you.’  But she spoke with a breathlessness that completely nullified the assurance.  ’It is merely that I find I must come to an explanation with Lord Mountclere before I can live here permanently, and I cannot stipulate with him while I am here in his power.  Till I write, good-bye.  Your things are not unpacked, so let them remain here for the present—­they can be sent for.’

Poor Picotee, more agitated than her sister, but never questioning her orders, went downstairs and out of the house.  She ran across the shrubberies, into the park, and to the gate whereat Sol had emerged some half-hour earlier.  She trotted along upon the turnpike road like a lost doe, crying as she went at the new trouble which had come upon Berta, whatever that trouble might be.  Behind her she heard wheels and the stepping of a horse, but she was too concerned to turn her head.  The pace of the vehicle slackened, however, when it was abreast of Picotee, and she looked up to see Christopher as the driver.

‘Miss Chickerel!’ he said, with surprise.

Picotee had quickly looked down again, and she murmured, ‘Yes.’

Christopher asked what he could not help asking in the circumstances, ‘Would you like to ride?’

‘I should be glad,’ said she, overcoming her flurry.  ’I am anxious to overtake my brother Sol.’

‘I have arranged to pick him up at Corvsgate,’ said Christopher.

He descended, and assisted her to mount beside him, and drove on again, almost in silence.  He was inclined to believe that some supernatural legerdemain had to do with these periodic impacts of Picotee on his path.  She sat mute and melancholy till they were within half-a-mile of Corvsgate.