“Right!” cried David, delighted at having extracted an intelligible response. “Then tell me where’s Rebecca? I’ve come a long way to see her. Which way has she gone? I be talkin’ of _Rebecca_, Mr. Legg.” “E-es,” rejoined the other, still chuckling; “oh, e-es, Rebecca--surely.” “Where is she, I say?” shouted David. Grandfather Legg lifted a lean hand and jerked his thumb expressively in the direction of Sweetbriar Lane. “Rebecca,” said he, “Rebecca be yon.” David stepped back from the window and stood a moment paralysed. The eager excitement of a few moments before left him all in a minute and he became suddenly cold. Rebecca was out at this hour--Rebecca had gone a-walkin’ in Sweetbriar Lane with another man. That dream which told him she craved for him was but a mockery. After a pause he began to walk rapidly away in the direction indicated by the old man. He would see for himself; he would find Rebecca and tax her with her infidelity; he would--here he drew in his breath and clenched his hands--he would reckon with the other fellow. Now the lane lay before him, winding upwards between its shadowy hedges silent and deserted. His steps rang sharply on the frozen surface; deep shadows lay beneath the hedgerows but the path itself gleamed silvery white in the moonlight. Up, up--there was never a soul in sight--if Grandfather Legg spoke truth Rebecca must have wandered on a long way with that new sweetheart of hers. He pressed forward with what speed he might, he would come upon them sooner or later and then! Yonder at the turn of the lane, the outline of the lychgate was visible, and, topping the churchyard wall the dark heads of a group of cypresses; his eyes wandered absently over them, insensibly taking note of how bravely the frost-encased needles gleamed; the hoar lay thick on the ancient tiles of the lychgate roof too, and even edged the time-worn pillars which supported it. As he brought his absent gaze down to these pillars he saw a face peep out at him from behind one. The moonlight fell full upon it and he recognised at once that it was Rebecca’s. Very small and pale it looked, and yet it wore a smile, tender and a little sad. David with an inarticulate cry rushed towards her. But before he could reach it the little figure came gliding forth from its ambush and went fluttering up the path before him as it had so often done in former days. She paused every now and then to turn round with the arch smile which he knew so well, and to beckon, but she spoke no word, and her feet fell so lightly on the stony track that they made no sound. She wore a cotton dress familiar to David, and no wrap of any kind in spite of the cold; her fair hair, too, glistened in the silvery light unshaded by a hat.