The morning was a lovely one, warm for the time of year, balmy with the full promise of spring. The trees were clothed in their tenderest green; there was a faint blue mist near the horizon which would pass into positive heat later on. Vincent strode along with his hands deep in his pockets. He looked like a man who was struggling under a heavy weight. In truth he was; he was unaccustomed to thought, and he now had plenty of that commodity to worry him. What was the matter with Het? What was her secret? Did Mrs. Everett's queer words mean anything or nothing? Why did Het want to see the Squire? Was it possible that the Squire--? The man dashed out one of his great hands suddenly into space. "Drat it," he muttered, "ef I thought it I'd kill 'im." At this moment the sound of footsteps approaching caused him to raise his head; he had drawn up close to a five-barred gate. He saw a woman's bonnet above the hedgerow--a woman dressed in black was coming in his direction--she turned the corner and he recognized Mrs. Everett. He stared at her for a full moment without opening his lips. He felt he did not like her; a queer sensation of possible danger stirred at his heart. What was she doing at this hour? Vincent knew nothing of the ways of women of quality; but surely they had no right to be out at this hour in the morning. The moment Mrs. Everett saw him she quickened her footsteps. No smile played round her lips, but there was a look of welcome and of gratified longing in her keen, dark eyes. "I had a presentiment that I should find you," she said. "I wanted to have a talk with you when no one was by. Here you are, and here am I." "Mornin', ma'am," said Vincent awkwardly. "Good-morning," answered, Mrs. Everett. "The day is a beautiful one," she continued; "it will be hot by and by." Vincent did not think it necessary to reply to this. "I'm due in the five-acre field," he said, after a long pause. "I beg pardon, ma'am, but I must be attending to my dooties." "If you wish to cross that field," said Mrs. Everett, "I have not the least objection to accompanying you." Vincent hesitated. He glanced at the five-barred gate as if he meant to vault over it, then he looked at the lady; she was standing perfectly motionless, her arms hanging straight at her sides; she came a step or two nearer to him. "Look you 'ere," he said then, suddenly. "I'm a plain body--a man, so to speak, of one idee. There are the men yonder waitin' to fall to with the spring turnips, and 'ere am I waitin' to give 'em orders, and 'ere you are, ma'am, waitin' to say sum'mat. Now I can't attend to the men and to you at the same time, so p'raps you'll speak out, ma'am, and go." "I quite understand your position," said Mrs. Everett. "I would much rather speak out. I have come here to say something about your wife." "Ay," said Vincent, folding his arms, "it's mighty queer what you should 'ave to say 'bout Hetty." "Not at all, for I happen to know something about her."