Flick was only waiting the word of command from his master, with anxious upturned nose and eyes scanning Silas's rugged face. 'Get along with you,' was the not very gracious dismissal. And the old dog leaped for joy, gave his low, deep-mouthed bay, scuttled round the yard twice, sending two sedate cats clambering up the old wall, with its high lichen-covered coping, where they turned at bay, with swelled tails and arched backs, to spit at their enemy. So bright was the sky, and so full of life was everything around her, that as Bryda tripped lightly on her way she had almost forgotten what was her errand. The church clock of Dundry struck ten as she passed. The village was quiet, almost deserted. The people were out at their daily toil on the hills, and only a few white-headed children were making dust pies by the churchyard gate, two or three women, with babies in their arms, gossiping at their cottage doors. 'Where's she off to, I wonder? That's Peter Palmer's girl, she is mighty proud, and never passes good-morning or the time of day, not she.' 'Pride must have a fall,' said another. 'Look at her in her fine red gown as if 'twere a Fair day.' And then the women hushed their squalling babies with somewhat rough vehemence and turned to other subjects. Bryda was a little doubtful of the nearest road to Rock House when she came to the place where four roads met. The old sign-post had lost one of its arms, and the lettering on another was defaced. Bryda knew Rock House was several miles nearer Dundry than the town of Binegar, but she could not feel sure which of the four roads that looked so much alike was the right one. As she stood hesitating, a young man, with a gun under his arm, leaped over the hedge into the road. Flick growled as he approached, and Bryda, putting her hand through his collar, said,-- 'Down, Flick.' Then, addressing the young man, she said,-- 'Please, sir, can you tell me the way to Rock House, Squire Bayfield's?' Then she added demurely, 'I have business with him.' 'Well,' was the reply, 'the Squire is a lucky man, that's all I have to say.' Bryda's colour rose, for this young man's gaze was a little too openly admiring. She curtsied, with a grace which was very different from the low bob of the country maiden generally, and said,-- 'I beg you, sir, to be so good as to tell me which road I am to take, right or left.' 'It's right ahead,' was the reply; 'I am going the same way. Your dog is not a very pleasant companion; he looks as if he would fly at my throat if he could.' 'He knows his manners, sir,' Bryda said, 'and he will not fly at anyone without reason. Down!' she said, 'quiet, Flick.' This, with a pat on his shaggy head, was taken as a sign that Bryda's companion was not the foe Flick had at first imagined, and he walked gravely by her side, as if unconscious of a third person's presence. Bryda volunteered no conversation, and for some minutes there was silence. Presently the man asked,--