With the thickets of Pevensel towering on every hand, Jeffray’s thoughts sped back from Hardacre to the glowing face of Bess of the Woods. Richard, despite his sensitive obedience to the promptings of honor, could not think of the girl without a flush of feeling sweeping across his mind. Her face brought both mystery and gladness, deep witchery and a prophecy of pain. What was this tall, black-haired, lissome wench to him that she should make his heart beat louder as over the tragic breathing of some song? Richard, riding through Pevensel, strove to laugh such romantic memories away. Because the girl had a fine body and a passionate face, should he suffer his thoughts to dally with her in the deeps of her own mysterious woods? Yet despite his strainings after sanity he found himself wondering how she fared in the forest, whether Black Dan still pestered her, and whether she carried one of his pistols in her bosom? In due course Jeffray came to Hardacre Chase where the oaks, gray and purple, with brown bracken beneath, strode down in giant companies upon the road. Mr. Lancelot, who had remained at home that morning in expectation of Jeffray’s coming, met his cousin as he rode up to the gate house. There was a cheering smile upon Mr. Hardacre’s face, for the inimitable Lot had no doubt at all of his sister’s willingness to forgive Richard Jeffray. Sir Peter, who happened to be standing in the oriel-window of the main gallery, had seen the young Squire of Rodenham ride up. The baronet and his son had discussed the problem that very morning. “Good luck to ye, Richard,” said Mr. Lot, with confidential solemnity. “I have had a terrible tussle with Sir Peter. Egad, cousin, I had to sweat to persuade the governor to let you see Jill. I’ll take your horse. You know the room, Richard?” Richard, who had dismounted, pressed Mr. Lancelot’s hand. “I shall not forget your kindness, Lot,” he said. “Bosh, sir, I always side with a man of spirit. Go up to her, cousin, and do your best. I’ll see you’re not interfered with.” Richard, blushing, turned away and entered the house. As for Mr. Lot, he thrust his hands deep into his breeches-pockets, looked after his cousin whimsically, and laughed. What a sweet picture of sanctity met Mr. Richard’s eyes as he opened the door of Miss Hardacre’s parlor bashfully after his knock had been softly acknowledged! Miss Jilian was seated in the window-seat, dressed in a silky green gown that rippled like water as she rose to meet her cousin. There was much lace upon her bosom and a knot of red ribbon over her heart. “Cousin Jilian.” Miss Hardacre let her eyes rest only for a moment on Richard’s face. Jeffray was blushing very handsomely. “Jilian, I have come to ask you to forgive me.” He went close to his cousin, and stood looking at her with humbled ardor on his face. Miss Hardacre appeared much distressed. Surely his sweet cousin’s eyes were somewhat red and swollen. And were those wrinkles under the lids?