'Hearken, fair lady, I am not one to be beaten in the race. See here, I had determined, as you know, to get that money, my lawful due. When I saw you standing at the cross roads like an incarnation of spring's loveliness my courage forsook me. In our future interviews it grew fainter and ever fainter. I love you, madam, and if you will promise to be my wife I swear I will never press that old man again for the money. I will work honestly to redeem the neglect of the past, at my poor home, and I swear further I will see you its fair mistress ere another year is out. 'Nay, sir,' Bryda said, gathering up all her strength, 'nay, sir, do not swear what is impossible to perform. Not even to save those I love from penury will I accept your proposal.' 'Another suitor is more favoured, I presume. Who is he?' 'Nay, sir,' Bryda said, with heightened colour and flashing eyes, 'there is a limit to such questions. I decline to answer them.' 'Now, see here,' Mr Bayfield went on, 'I give you a proof of my ardent affection. Name a time for the further consideration of this matter, and as I ride back to-day I will give them warning at Bishop's Farm that I extend the time for claiming my dues. Name the time, and I grant it, for your sweet sake, and for yours alone. Speak, and I obey--command me as your slave.' Bryda hastily went over in her mind the probability that after all this was but a subterfuge, and that Mr Bayfield would not be true to his word. Then she thought of what the joy and relief at the farm would be when a long delay was granted--much might happen in six months--the winter might be hard, and there would be a terrible pinch, perhaps, for the necessaries of life at Bishop's Farm. But could she trust Mr Bayfield? She felt a strange recoil from him, and yet something like admiration, for he was a distinctly handsome man, and had an air and bearing far above good Jack Henderson, or any of her old admirers in her native village. After a moment's pause, while she nervously pinched the corners of the paper bag containing the Bath buns, she looked up with her clear guileless eyes into the Squire's face. 'Will you grant a delay of a year, sir?' she asked. 'A year--_no_! I am not made of the stuff of patient Job,' he replied, with a little laugh. 'No, madam, I will _not_ wait a year.' 'Till Eastertide next year, then?' 'Well, you are a little witch. I think you have cast a spell over me. I will wait till then. Come, thank me--give me a sign of gratitude.' Bryda put out her little hand, and the Squire took it, bowed over it, raised it to his lips, and then said,-- 'If I keep this hand your grandfather shall keep the money.' 'But I do not promise, sir--mind, I do not promise. I only crave for delay--understand me, sir.' 'I do understand,' was the reply, and then there were steps along the pavement of the square, as the apprentice hurried home for his midday meal in the kitchen.