"Not I, my lass," said the Churchwarden, in his bluff way. "Perhaps some one else thinks that you are." Sage sank lower, and hid her face upon Cyril's hand. "Let us send one of the lads," said Mrs Portlock. "All right," said the Churchwarden, good-humouredly. "Send word up to the rectory that Mr Cyril has had a bit of an accident--mustn't say you've been fighting, eh?" Cyril moaned softly, but did not speak. "Say that he has had a bit of an accident, and that he won't be home for an hour or two. Would you like him to come round by the town and tell Vinnicombe to come up?" "Oh, yes, yes, uncle," cried Sage, pitifully; and the messenger was sent off. The doctor and the Rector arrived almost together about an hour later, during which interval Portlock had made himself acquainted with the circumstances of the struggle. "And was Luke Ross hurt?" he asked. "I--I think not, uncle," said Sage, colouring deeply, and then turning pale. "Humph! Poor fellow!" said the Churchwarden. "Sage, my lass, you've behaved very badly to that young chap, and no good will come of it, you'll see." Mr Vinnicombe did not consider that there was much the matter, that was evident; but he apparently did not care to tell his patient that this was the case, and consequently it was arranged that Cyril should stop at the farm, the best bed-room being appointed to his use; and he amended so slowly that he quite fulfilled a prophecy enunciated by the Churchwarden. "Strikes me, mother," he said, "that yon chap will be so unwell that he won't go away for a fortnight; and if you let Sage nurse him he'll stop a month." Sage, to Cyril's great disgust, was not allowed to nurse him; but he stayed for a month all the same, fate having apparently arranged that, if Luke Ross's cause was not hopeless before, it was now wrecked beyond the slightest chance of being saved. PART ONE, CHAPTER THIRTY NINE. FULLERTON'S PROPHECY. In a place like Lawford, where every one knew more of his or her neighbours affairs than the individual could possibly know for him or herself, the encounter near Kilby Farm soon had its place as the chief item of news, and was dressed and garnished according to the taste of those who related it. The principal version was that, stung by a letter sent by Sage Portlock, Luke Ross had come down from town and purposely left the coach at Cross-lane, so that he could waylay and murder Cyril Mallow with a huge hedge-stake which was picked up afterwards near the place. For a short time the gossips were at fault for a reason, but they only had to wait patiently for a while, and then it was known throughout the place that Cyril Mallow was engaged to marry Sage--a matter so out of all reason to the muddled intellect of Humphrey Bone, the old schoolmaster, that he said it was enough to make widow Marly turn in her grave.