There was silence again, broken only by the faint warbling of a thrush singing to his mate in the warm dusk. ‘You ask a great deal,’ said Rosalie at last. ‘I scarcely know how I can forgive you.’ She saw the dark figure sway a little, but he spoke quietly: ‘I can only say that I would give my life to recall those insulting words of mine.’ ‘Words!’ she repeated. ‘Words count for little! That you should think of me thus—that you should judge me so harshly!’ He said nothing; the thrush sang on, the liquid notes rising and falling with almost unendurable sweetness. Then, ‘I entreat you!’ he pleaded once more. ‘I entreat you to forgive me!’ She stretched out her hand in silence, and he took it without a word; it was cold, very cold, and it trembled. She drew it away almost as soon as his fingers had closed upon it, and he turned and went away, his footsteps falling with unaccustomed heaviness on the little path; and presently the gate swung to behind him. Isaac was sitting by the dying fire, a foot resting on either hob, and surrounded by a haze of tobacco-smoke, when his nephew entered. He looked towards Richard with an aggrieved expression as he crossed the room. ‘Well, them there legs o’ yourn should be pretty well stretched by now. I was wonderin’ whether you were comin’ back at all to-night. Where have ye been all this while?’ Richard hesitated, and then, throwing back his head, answered deliberately: ‘I’ve been to see Mrs. Fiander.’ ‘What! to Littlecomb at this time o’ night! What ever took ’ee there so late?’ ‘Why, to tell you the truth, I went to make an apology to Mrs. Fiander. She came across the top field to-day when I was ploughing, and I said something which hurt her feelings—in fact, I offended her very much, and I felt I could not rest to-night without begging her pardon.’ ‘Oh,’ said the farmer, and then paused, eyes and mouth round with astonished concern. ‘Well,’ he continued presently, ‘I’m glad as ye ’polygised. I’m very glad as ye ’polygised, Richard. ’Ees, that was very well done of ’ee. But what did you go for to offend her for?’ He leaned forward, anxious wrinkles still furrowing his brow, and puckering up his mouth as though he was going to whistle. By-and-by, indeed, he did actually whistle under his breath and without any regard for tune. Richard, meanwhile, stood looking down into the fire as though he had not heard the question. ‘Eh?’ hinted his uncle at last. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon! I can’t think, I’m sure, how I came to forget myself so. I was out of temper, I suppose.’ ‘Ah,’ commented the farmer. ‘Well, I can say truly as she and me ha’ never had a word, not since I knowed her. Nay, not so much as one word! We did al’ays get on wonderful well in ’Lias’ time, and now I do really think as we gets on better than ever.’ ‘So you ought to,’ said Richard, a trifle irritably; then he added in a softer tone: ‘I don’t believe anyone could quarrel with you, Uncle Isaac.’