A bat twinkled round his head as he emerged into the open, a host of rabbits scurried away at his heavy footfall. “And all they dumb things love her,” meditated Robert. “’Tis along of her bein’ so innocent-like! Eh, she’s a flower.” Soon he, too, had left the woods behind, and was marching across the solitary down, grey at this hour save on the upper slopes, where the short grass still caught some faint remnant of the rosy after-glow. Night creatures were stirring in every thicket that he passed, and as the dull thud of his step fell upon the resonant ground it caused a flutter and commotion amid the drowsy children of the day, which had taken shelter there, deeming themselves secure from disturbance. A rustle of wings, a patter of tiny feet, a sleepy twitter, the shriek of a blackbird, the heavy beat of a startled pigeon’s wings as it darted blindly from its ambush--Robert held on his way without noticing any of these things, and presently darkness and liberty reigned undisturbed in the many-peopled waste. For many subsequent evenings he visited Oakleigh Wood at the specified time, but, though he patrolled it from end to end, and strained his eyes in vain for a glimpse of Rebecca Masters, not so much as a flutter of her skirts rewarded his patient gaze. Then, one day he suddenly heard an unwonted noise proceed from a corner of the copse. An owl was hooting intermittently; every now and then there came a pause, and then the cry would be sent forth again. Now, though the bats had been circling about for some time, it was as yet a little early for an owl to be abroad; and, struck by a sudden thought, Robert set off running in the direction whence the sound proceeded, imitating the call to the best of his ability. As he expected, he found Rebecca standing with her hands curved round her mouth, sending forth the eerie cry. Her back was towards him, and it was not until the ground vibrated beneath his rapid advance, that she perceived his advent. “Dear, to be sure, how you did frighten me!” she cried, turning round with a little spring of terror. “Did I?” said he. “You know you told me you often hooted to the owls and they answered ye back. I thought _I’d_ answer ye--I thought I’d coom.” She did not speak, though he stood towering over her expectantly. “Now I’m here must I bide?” he inquired. “E-es, if you’ve a mind to.” He thrust his hands into his pocket and drew out a cluster of half-ripened nuts. “Ye can bite into ’em,” he said; “they’ll not hurt your teeth.” Then he dived into his other pocket and held something towards her cautiously; curled up in his brown palm was a very small dormouse, sound asleep. “’Tis for you,” he remarked briefly, “I’ve been carrying it about three days and more, knowin’ as you’d a likin’ for such things. ’Tis a mercy I’ve lit on ye at last, else it ’ud maybe be dead.” This was Robert Formby’s mode of courting. It appeared to be successful, for Rebecca looked up at him with a bright smile.