12It was growing dark and the scuds of rain seemed to make it darker still. The horses were tired, as were the riders, for Lizbeth had pushed them hard. For the past hour she had recognised the way and had ridden ahead of her little band of servants and pack-horses, hurrying forward with an eagerness which made it hard to keep up with her; but she was shivering as she turned into the twisting, muddy road which led to Camfield.
She found herself longing for the warmth of the tropical sun, and in her tiredness she tried to imagine herself on the quarter-deck of the Santa Perpetua sailing down the coast over a sea as brilliantly blue as the sky above it. She could visualise Rodney walking up and down deep in thought, his hands clasped behind his back, his expression serious and preoccupied.
