In the grey of the morning, two men met, face to face, in the overhanging of the Coffin Wood. Which was the more scared of the two, neither could have said; although each felt a little pleased at the terror of the other. The one of strong nerves was superstitious; the other, though free from much superstition, was nervous under the circumstances. The tall and big man was Mark Stote, the little fellow who frightened him Dr. Rufus Hutton. The latter, of course was the first to recover presence of mind, for Mark Stoteʼs mental locomotion was of ponderous metal. “What brings you here, Mr. Stote, at this time of the morning”? “And what brings you here, Dr. Hutton”? Mark might have asked with equal reason. He wondered afterwards why he did not; the wonder would have been if he had. As it was, he only said— “To see the rights o’ my young meester, sir”. “The wrongs, you mean”, said Rufus; “Mark Stote, there is more in this matter than any man yet has guessed at”. “You be down upon the truth of it, my word for it but you be, sir. Iʼve a shot along o’ both of ’em, since ’em wor that haigh, and seeʼd how they thought of their guns, sir; Meester Clayton wor laike enough to shoot Meester Cradock ’xidentually; but never wicey warse, sir, as the parson sayeth, never wicey warse, sir, for I niver see no one so cartious laike”. “Mark Stote, do you mean to say that Cradock shot his brother on purpose”? Mark stared at Rufus for several moments, then he thrust forth his broad brown hand and seized him by the collar. Dr. Hutton felt that he was nothing in that big manʼs grasp, but he would not play the coward. “Stote, let me go this instant. Iʼll have you discharged this very day unless you beg my pardon”. “That you moy then, if you can, meester. A leetle chap coom fram Ingy, an’ we bin two hunner and feefty year ’long o’ the squire and his foregoers”! Nevertheless he let Rufus go, and looked over his hat indignantly. “You are an honest fellow”, cried Hutton, when he got his breath again; “an uncommonly honest fellow, although in great need of enlightenment. It is not in my nature, my man”, here he felt like a patron, getting over his shaking, so elastic was his spirit; “I assure you, Luke—ah no, your name is Matthew; upon my word, I beg your pardon, I am almost sure it is Mark—Mr. Mark, I shall do my utmost for your benefit. Now talk no more, but act, Mark”. “I oodnʼt a talked nothing, but for mating with your honour”. “Then resume your taciturnity, which I see is habitual with you, and perhaps constitutional”. Mark Stote felt sore all over. Dr. Hutton now was the collarer. Mark, in his early childhood, had been to school for a fortnight, and ran away with a sense of rawness, which any big word renewed. “Mr. Stote, I will thank you to search in that direction, while I investigate this way”.