“But, my darling———!”

“Yes, yes, I know what you would say, and indeed I want more than anything that you and he should be acquainted! But I dare not present you to him yet! You see, he insisted on sending for Coate last night, and we are in the greatest anxiety! He seemed not to be disturbed, but Winkfield—his valet—could not be easy about him. He knows him so well, you understand: better than anyone, I think! He thought him too quiet. He has told me since that had Grandpapa but flown into one of his old rages he would not have felt so apprehensive—though Dr. Bacup has warned us never to provoke him! He did not go to bed, and he thinks Grandpapa scarcely closed his eyes all night. He desired Joseph to ride over to Dr. Bacup’s as soon as it was light, but before the doctor could reach Kellands my grandfather had sent for my cousin to go to him. Winkfield dared not oppose him: he will never tolerate opposition! We don’t know what he said to Henry—or what Henry may have said to him, but he scarcely spoke to Winkfield or to me afterwards, and he looked so old and so white that we were cast into alarm. He is laid down upon his bed now, for Dr. Bacup gave him some drops of laudanum, which sent him to sleep. The doctor has charged us most straitly not to vex or to agitate him, but to keep him as quiet as we may, and above all not to permit him to tease himself with worry. We mean to tell him, if he should ask, that Coate has gone away, though Winkfield doubts he will not believe us. Dr. Bacup considers he may well rally—he is so strong, you know!—and if he does so, then I will tell him that my absurd gatekeeper is so foolish as to wish to marry me, and ask him if you may come to visit him. You must not try to see him yet!” She saw that he was looking grave, and laid her hand shyly on his knee. “Please, John——I”

He took her hand at once, and held it comfortingly. “You must know that I should do nothing to injure your grandfather, Nell. I was only wondering——But you are the judge! My poor girl! I wish I could help you!”

She smiled at him. “Oh, if you knew the happiness of knowing you are close, and would come to me, if I called to you! I must go now: I left Rose to watch by my grandfather while Winkfield rests.”

He made no effort to detain her, but got up, saying: “You have your horse?”

“Tethered outside—was not that indiscreet of me? What a ramshackle wife you have chosen, Captain Staple! Good gracious, how comes my hat to be lying on the ground?”

He picked it up, and dusted it. “I think it fell off,” he said. “It was confoundedly in the way, you know!”

“Wretch! You pushed it off, as though I had a dozen hats to my name!” she said merrily, stretching out her hand for it.

He gave it to her, but before she could put it on again, took her back into his arms. “If you must go, kiss me goodbye!”

She drew his head down. “Stoop, then, my giant! You are out of my reach!” There was a pause; she said uncertainly: “Let me go now! John, I must go!”

“Yes,” he said, releasing her. “You must, of course. Come! I’ll put you up in the saddle!”

They went out into the autumn sunlight. He went to fetch her hack from the sheep-fence, to which she had hitched the bridle, and led him up to her, testing the girths before he threw her into the saddle. As she arranged the folds of her skirt, he said: “When shall I see you again?”

“Tomorrow, unless Grandpapa should be ill, or—or there was some other impediment. Henry, by the by, has been asking me the most searching questions about you. I almost fear that he may suspect me of having a tendre for a mere gatekeeper, but I think I fobbed him off.”

“I don’t think it’s that. He passed the gate this morning, and tried his best to discover what has become of Brean.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing: I was the very picture of bovine stupidity! He is frightened of something—and I wish I knew what it may be!”

“What can Henry have to do with Brean?” she wondered.

“When we know that we shall perhaps know the whole. Go, now, my love! And remember that I am close to you!”

“I could not forget that,” she said simply, and touched her horse with her heel, and rode away.

Captain Staple watched her canter across the field, and went slowly back to finish grooming Beau.

Half an hour later, when he re-entered the toll-house, he found Joseph Lydd in possession of the kitchen. Mr. Lydd’s coat hung over the back of a chair, and he was engaged in polishing Beau’s bit. He looked up when the Captain came in, and grinned at him. “’Morning, gov’nor! I was coming to look for you, but seeing as how I happened to catch sight of this here bridle, which you brought in to clean—and not before it needed it, if I may make so bold!—I thought I might as well rub it up for you. You’ll find your stirrup-irons over there.”

“Thank you! I’m much obliged to you!” John said. “Draw yourself a glass of beer, and one for me, too! Is Ben on the gate?”

“In a manner of speaking, he is. He was giving young Biggin pepper ten minutes ago: regular mill they was having, and the claret flowing very free, which it gen’rally does, when a couple of boys get to sparring,” said Lydd, collecting two glasses and a jug from the cupboard. “Howsever, I dessay they’ve thought of something else to do by this time, for they was both blowing when I saw ’em.”

“Up to mischief, I expect,” said John, vigorously scrubbing his hands at the sink. “What brings you here this morning?”

“You’re wanted up at the Manor, gov’nor, that’s what.”

John looked quickly over his shoulder at him. “Who wants me?”

“Squire,” said Lydd, filling the jug. “Sent for me first thing, he did. His compliments, and he’ll be happy to see you this evening, if you’ll be so kind as to give him the pleasure of your company. Which, begging your pardon, sir, you better do, because he ain’t taking no for an answer.”

John rinsed the soap from his hands, and turned to pick up the towel. “There’s nothing I should like better, but—I have seen your mistress this morning, and she tells me that he must not be worried by visitors.”

“He won’t be worrited,” responded Lydd calmly. “The only thing as ’ud worrit him ’ud be if we wasn’t to obey orders. What’s more, Miss Nell don’t know as he wants to see you, gov’nor, because he ain’t told her, nor no one’s got to tell her.”

“What does his valet say?” John asked abruptly.

“He says as Squire’s got something on his mind, and he’d as lief have it took off. He did take the liberty of suggesting to Squire as p’raps he hadn’t better have no visitor today, but he got his nose snapped off for his pains, Squire being on his high ropes, and telling the pair of us he ain’t burnt to the socket yet. Damned our eyes proper, he did,” said Lydd, with simple pride.

“If he is well enough to see me this evening, I’ll come,” John said. “But I can’t leave the boy alone here after dark: he’s scared. Will you mind the gate for me?”

“That’s all right and tight, gov’nor. The way Mr. Winkfield and me has it planned, I’ve sent the stable-lad off home, and told him he needn’t come back till the morning, so there won’t be no one in the stables, them two beauties of Mr. Henry’s and Mr. Coate’s, which calls themselves grooms, taking themselves off regular to the boozing-ken up the road each evening. If they’re back afore midnight it’ll be for the first time, nor it wouldn’t matter if they was, because they’ll be too muddled to notice a strange horse—even if they was to go into the stables, which I never knew them do yet, not at that time o’ night. You don’t catch them making sure all’s right afore they turns in!” said Lydd, with bitter scorn. “If Squire’s still of the same mind, I’ll come along here when he’s had his dinner, and I’ll tell you the way. It ain’t difficult, and the moon’ll be up. All you got to do, gov’nor, is to turn in the first gate you come to, right-handed, a matter of a mile up the road. It’ll take you to the stables: it don’t go past the house. There’s a path which leads up to the side-door: you can’t mistake it. Mr. Winkfield will be there to take you to Squire.”

Thus it came about that when Ben, released after his dinner from attendance on the gate, returned at dusk after an afternoon of illicit adventure with Master Biggin, he was surprised to find the Captain’s horse stabled once more in the shed. When he slid, somewhat guiltily, into the kitchen, he was startled to perceive that his protector was wearing the shirt ironed that morning by Mrs. Skeffling, a well-tied cravat, and his topboots. He had not put on his coat or his waistcoat, and he was engaged in the homely occupation of frying eggs in a pan over the fire, but those gleaming topboots filled Ben with foreboding. In patent dismay he stood staring up at the Captain, his ruddy cheeks whitening.

John turned his head, surveying him with the hint of a smile in his eyes. “I suppose, if I did my duty by you, I should send you supperless to bed, shouldn’t I?” he remarked. “What devilry have you been up to, you young rascal?”

“Guv’nor—you ain’t going away?” Ben blurted out, his lip trembling.

“No, I’m not going away, but I have to go out this evening. You needn’t look so scared, you silly little noddy! Mr. Lydd is coming to mind the gate, so you won’t be alone.”

“You’re going to tip the double!” Ben said, his face sharp with suspicion. “Don’t go, gov’nor, don’t go! You said you wouldn’t leave me, not till me dad comes back!”

“Listen, Ben! Whatever happens, I shan’t go away without telling you! You’ll find me here when you wake up in the morning: that’s a promise! Mr. Lydd will stay here till I come back. Now, you wash all that dirt off your face and hands, and set the plates out!”