Much to Aunt Letitia’s chagrin, Dick Wilson did not return in time that day to be introduced to Miss Jilian Hardacre. She confessed to the young lady that her nephew had a painter friend staying at the priory, a droll and charming creature, but the Lady Letitia did not divulge the gentleman’s name. Might they bring him to the masked ball at Hardacre? Of course Miss Jilian declared that any friend of her cousin’s would be welcome. And thus Mr. Lot and his sister departed from Rodenham, on the best of terms with Richard Jeffray, and apparently reconciled to the Lady Letitia, his aunt. Richard walked with them across the park, and took leave of his sweet cousin with an ardent look and a significant pressure of the hand. As they climbed the road up the long hill towards Pevensel, Miss Jilian looked at her brother with a questioning smile, and remarked on the Lady Letitia’s change of temper. “Richard must have terrified the poor old woman,” she said. “I should never have thought that the lad had so much spirit in him.” Mr. Lot thrust out his lower lip and swore. “Devil take the old cat,” he said; “she is too deuced polite and purry to make me fancy her. Do you think she loves us, Jill? Damme, I’ll wager she’d like to slap your face.” “And yours too, Lot, eh?” They laughed and whipped up their horses to a trot as they topped the hill. “Cousin Richard’s a little gentleman,” quoth Mr. Hardacre, “though he is a bit of a fool.” “No, no, Lot, he is too honest, that is all. I like the lad. He has a sweet nature.” “What I should like to know is,” returned the brother, “what sort of mischief that old catamaran is plotting. She’s a regular Jezebel, Jill. Deuce take it, she would cheat Old Nick into believing her an angel, but she won’t cheat me.” Meanwhile poor Bess, in Pevensel, had already been confronted with Isaac Grimshaw’s authority. She had told old Ursula of the pistols Jeffray had given her, and while the girl was away milking just before sunset, the old lady had crept up the stairs, filched away the pistols from the cupboard, and hidden them in the hole under the floor where she kept her guineas. The same evening, as Bess was sitting on the settle before the fire, thinking of Jeffray, her work lying idle in her lap, there came a sudden knocking at the cottage door. Old Ursula jumped up, shot back the bolt, and let in Isaac and his son. She locked the door after them and pocketed the key. Bess, starting up from the settle, became aware instinctively that there was some conspiracy afoot against herself. Isaac, glib and smiling, thrust Dan forward—Dan, upon whose hairy face there was a suggestive and sheepish grin. “I be come to claim you, Bess,” he said, shifting his fur cap from hand to hand. “Claim me!” “Mr. Isaac has ordered it. You and me are to break a coin together. Come, lass, I’ll be kind and easy with you. Give me a kiss, and let’s call it a bargain.”