“It ain’t for you, anyways,” he said, looking at the superscription. “And as I don’t know some one o’ the name o’ A. B. in this ’ere ’ouse, I’d best open it and find out who _’tis_ for.” And he tore the cover as he spoke. The girl tottered where she stood, and stretched out a hand to steady herself against the mantelpiece. Preston had made two steps towards the door, but a furious gesture from the farmer had been more than he dared disobey, and he stayed where he was, still twirling his hat in his hands. The old man’s face grew livid as he read; then, with a muttered curse, he crushed the paper in his hand and tossed it into the fire. Bess made no effort to save her property; the flames curled round it and swallowed it at once. Her lips had parted as though she would have cried out, but no sound came from them; she only leant a little more heavily against the mantelpiece and her face went white. Her father made a step towards her, and pushed her into a chair. For an instant he glared at her; then slowly putting his hands in his pockets, he turned to the crest-fallen suitor. “Ye ain’t pressin’ enough, man!” laughed he unpleasantly. “Try her again. She won’t say ye nay. That’s on’y coyness. Oh, no, she won’t say ye nay.” And he slapped Preston loudly on the back, laughing again, and so passed back into the kitchen, still muttering, “Oh, no, she won’t say ye nay.” But still Farmer Benson reckoned without his host. Bess sat still, and the young man looked at her askance from time to time. “Were the letter from t’other chap?” asked he at last. “Yes,” she said. “It’s a pity ’e burned it,” declared Preston sympathetically. “P’r’aps it might ’ave told ye somethin’ as ye wanted to know.” “Yes,” assented Bess, “it’s a pity ’e burned it.” “D’ye think it might ha’ been to tell ye the lad had changed ’is mind?” asked he. She did not smile. She shook her head. “No,” she said. “He’s a-comin’ back to fetch me.” “Oh,” said Preston, “he is, is he? Will yer father stomach it then, d’ye think?” “I don’t know,” said Bess, looking at him. “But there’ll be some way.” No misgiving occurred to her in confiding her secret to this new suitor; instinctively she felt he was her best friend. “Yes, yes,” said he soothingly, “p’r’aps there will. Anyways,” he added after a minute, “I understand as ye don’t care to give yer word to no other chap just now. So we’ll let that be.” “Thank you,” she said. He took the door-knob in his hand. “If I can do anything to ’elp ye, I’d be pleased,” he said. “And if it should fall through arter all, and ye seemed to feel ye could change yer mind, why in course I shall allers be willin’, ye know. I ain’t a changeable man. Ye can bear in mind that it’d be a comfortable ’ome and no worritin’.” Bess lifted grateful eyes to his. “You wouldn’t want it if ye knew all,” she repeated. “Well, I ain’t a changeable man,” was his reply once more. “And I’ll be willin’ to serve ye at any time. Good-arternoon.”