Ande stood near the threshold with a tumult of feelings within him, that made him look more like an awkward, country lout than the grandson of a squire. "Master Trembath, I have come to beg your pardon for the hasty act of father." Ande could not help noticing the slight colouring of her features, enhanced by the wealth of dark locks overhead. There was a sincerity and earnestness in her tone that made her a hundred times more attractive than he had ever seen her before. He mastered himself with a great effort. "The apology comes from the wrong person, Mistress Vivian, and the deed being done, cannot be undone." "It was a cruel injustice," said Mrs. Trembath, with some little warmth in her tone, "and I wondered how the squire could have done it, seeing how bravely my laddie acted in the runaway." The young girl flushed at the charge of injustice. "Indeed, father was not aware of Master Trembath's brave conduct; he was away all afternoon, and I was not aware of the judgment on Master Trembath until the following day. I was very much vexed over the whole affair, and when I told father, he, too, was chagrined, yet he said the circumstances were so much against Master Trembath that he didn't see how he could amend matters. I want you to accept these flowers, Master Trembath, as a token of my high esteem, and I trust that you will neither consider my father nor myself in any hard light." She placed the large bouquet of flowers on the settle and turned to depart. Mrs. Trembath placed her hand on the dark, raven locks of the squire's daughter as she stood on the portico step. "And may God's blessing attend you, Mistress Vivian, for your kind and charitable spirit, and may your father be imbued with the same!" Ande accompanied her to the pony chaise. His righteous indignation against the squire was mitigated by this unexpected visit and by the flowers. He had coveted only a single blossom; here was a gorgeous bunch from her very hand. They made a pretty picture, standing without the gate, in the rays of the setting sun. The pony stood patiently waiting near the hedge, occasionally nibbling a choice bit of herbage that seemed to seek safety from his investigating jaws in the rough rock crevices. "I thank you very much; the flowers are very beautiful." "And you will not think hard of my father." The youth was silent and bit his lip; then avoiding the question, he answered: "It was not the stocks, but the accusation and the condemnation, that has made all people look down on me." "Oh, Master Trembath----" "Call me Ande; it's more natural to me; you were going to say----" "I was going to ask whether you could not clear yourself from being on the grounds at that time." "No. I was there." "After your having saved my life. I shudder to think of it----" "You shudder to think of my saving your life," said the youth, a little stiffly. "Oh, no. How you misunderstand me!" "You mean you are pleased," said Ande, brightening.