"Stuff and nonsense, dear. Why any one, with half an eye, could have seen that the poor girl was fretting her heart out about young Mallow." "She didn't fret her heart out about Luke Ross," said the Churchwarden, sturdily. "About him!" said Mrs Portlock, in a tone of contempt. "How could she? Cyril Mallow's worth a dozen of him." "Proof of the pudding is in the eating," said the Churchwarden, kicking at a piece of blazing coal with his boot toe. "Yes, and a very unpleasant bit of pudding Mr Luke Ross would have been to eat. There, you hold your tongue, and let things go on. You ought to be very proud that matters have turned out as they have." "Humph! Well, I'm not a bit proud," he replied; "and I'm very sorry now that I have let things go on so easily as I have. You may see Luke Ross when he comes down, for I won't." "Oh! I'll see him," she replied. "That's easily done. Why, Joseph, you ought to be ashamed to think of them both on the same day. Our Sage will be his lordship's sister-in-law." "Hang his lordship! Well, perhaps I am, wife, and it's because I'm afraid that Luke Ross is the better man of the two. Why, look here, it's getting quite dark, and that girl not home," he cried, angrily, as he strode towards the front door. "Do come and sit down," said Mrs Portlock. "She's all right I tell you. I'll be bound to say that some one has gone to meet her and see her home, and, look here, Joseph, don't be foolish when Mr Cyril comes, but make yourself pleasant to him for Sage's sake. She quite worships him, poor girl." "Hah!" said the Churchwarden, with a grim smile upon his lip. "No one ever worshipped me," and he opened the front door. "Now don't keep letting in the cold wind, Joseph," cried Mrs Portlock, and then, "Gracious! What's that?" She heard the faint scream of some one at a distance, but almost as it reached her ears the Churchwarden had gone off at a heavy trot across the home field, in the direction from whence the sound had come, and he burst through the gate, to find Sage upon her knees, nursing Cyril Mallow's bleeding head, as the sound of steps was heard from the side lane. "What's this? Who did this?" cried the Churchwarden. "Is he much hurt?" "I--I don't know," faltered Sage. "Oh, uncle, uncle, is he killed?" "Killed--no," said the Churchwarden, going down on one knee, "cut-- stunned. How was it--a fall?" "No, uncle," sobbed Sage, who was now half beside herself with grief--"they--they fought." "Who did? Who has been here?" "Don't--don't ask me," she sobbed. "But I do ask you," cried the Churchwarden, sharply. "Why," he cried, struck as by a flash of inspiration, "Luke Ross has come down?" "Yes," moaned Sage, with a sigh of misery. "And he did this?" "Yes, uncle." "Humph! Then he's a plucked un!" muttered the Churchwarden, with a low whistle. "Well, anyhow we've got it over." "Is--is he dead, uncle?" whispered Sage, hoarsely.