Cradock, going at a desperate pace, with a handsome pair of legs, which had recovered their activity, kicked up something hard and bright from a little dollop of leaves, caught it in his hand like a tennis–ball, and leaped the hedge _uno impetu_. Away he went, without stopping to think, through the splashy sides of the spire–bed, almost as fast, and quite as much frightened, as Rufus Huttonʼs mare. When he got well out into the chase, he turned, and began to laugh at himself; but a great white owl flapped over a furze–bush, and away went Cradock again. The light had gone out very suddenly, as it often does in October, and Cradock (whose wind was uncommonly good) felt it his duty to keep good hours at the Rectory. So, with the bright thing, whatever it was, poked anywhere into his pocket, he came up the drive at early tea–time, and got a glimpse through the window of Amy. “Couldnʼt have been Amy, at any rate”, he said to himself, in extinction of some very vague ideas; “I defy her to come at the pace I have done. No, no; it must have been in answer to my desperate prayer”. Amy was gone, though her cup was there, when Cradock entered the drawing–room. “Well”, he thought, “how hard–hearted she is! But it cannot matter now, much. Though I never believed she would be so”. Being allowed by his kind entertainers to do exactly as he pleased, poor Cradock had led the life of a hermit more than that of a guest among them. He had taken what little food he required in the garret he had begged for, or carried it with him into the woods, where most of his time was spent. Of course all this was very distressing to the hospitable heart of Miss Doxy; but her brother John would have it so, for so he had promised Cradock. He could understand the reluctance of one who feels himself under a ban to meet his fellow–creatures hourly, and know that they all are thinking of him. So it came to pass that Miss Eudoxia, who now sat alone in the drawing–room, was surprised as well as pleased at the entrance of their refugee. As he hesitated a moment, in doubt of his reception, she ran up at once, took both his hands, and kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, Cradock, my dear boy, this is kind of you; most kind, indeed, to come and tell me at once of your success. I need not ask—I know by your face; the first bit of colour I have seen in your poor cheeks this many a day”. “Thatʼs because I have been running, Miss Rosedew”. “Miss Rosedew, indeed; and _now_, Cradock! Aunt Eudoxia, if you please, or Aunt Doxy, with all my heart, now”. He used to call her so, to tease her, in the happy days gone by; and she loved to be teased by him, her pet and idol. “Dear Aunt Eudoxia, tell me truly, do you think—I can hardly ask you”. “Think what, Cradock? My poor Cradock; oh, donʼt be like that”! “Not that I did—I donʼt mean that—but that it was possible for me to have done it on purpose”? “Done what on purpose, Cradock”? “Why, of course, that horrible, horrible thing”.