sped back on their traces, taking the other road, through Bolsover.
Connie wore her goggles and disguising cap, and she sat in silence. Because of Hilda's opposition, she was fiercely on the side of the man, she would stand by him through thick and thin.
They had their headlights on, by the time they passed Crosshill, and the small lit-up train that chuffed past in the cutting made it seem like real night. Hilda had calculated the turn into the lane at the bridge-end. She slowed up rather suddenly and swerved off the road, the lights glaring white into the grassy, overgrown lane. Connie looked out. She saw a shadowy figure, and she opened the door.
"Here we are!" she said softly.
But Hilda had switched off the lights, and was absorbed backing, making the turn.
"Nothing on the bridge?" she asked shortly.
"You're all right," said the man's voice.
She backed on to the bridge, reversed, let the car run forwards a few yards along the road, then backed into the lane, under a wych-elm tree, crushing the grass and bracken. Then all the lights went out. Connie stepped down. The man stood under the trees.
"Did you wait long?" Connie asked.
"Not so very," he replied.
They both waited for Hilda to get out. But Hilda shut the door of the car and sat tight.
"This is my sister Hilda. Won't you come and speak to her? Hilda! This is Mr. Mellors."
The keeper lifted his hat, but went no nearer.
"Do walk down to the cottage with us, Hilda," Connie pleaded. "It's not far."
"What about the car?"
"People do leave them on the lanes. You have the key."
Hilda was silent, deliberating. Then she looked backwards down the lane.
"Can I back round that bush?" she said.
"Oh, yes!" said the keeper.
She backed slowly round the curve, out of sight of the road, locked the car, and got down. It was night, but luminous dark. The hedges rose high and wild, by the unused lane, and very dark seeming. There was a fresh sweet scent on the air. The keeper
