bridle over his arm strode on beside us, with his hand upon the frame of the pillion. Ten minutes passed, the last five of which I rode with my face over my shoulder. “Diccon!” I cried at last, sharply.

He came to his senses with a start. “Ay, sir?” he questioned, his face dark red.

“Suppose you look at me for a change,” I said. “How long since Dale came in, Diccon?”

“Ten years, sir.”

“Before we enter Jamestown we’ll pass through a certain field and beneath a certain tree. Do you remember what happened there, some years ago?”

“I am not like to forget, sir. You saved me from the wheel.”