Thus they parted, without another word or a clasp of the hands. Richard climbed up the bank and disappeared from view, and Rosalie remained standing where he had left her. CHAPTER XI [Picture: Music score from Hayden’s Surprise symphony] WHEN Richard emerged from the shadowy hollow where he had left his mistress standing as if turned to stone, he found all the land about him bathed with the rosy glow of sunset. The long ‘rollers’ of newly-cut grass over which he stepped were touched here and there by arrows of light, and the twigs of the hedge towards which he made his way were outlined as by fire. He saw none of these things, however; but when, climbing the low bank and passing through a gap in the hedge, he descended into the road, he was suddenly recalled to actualities by the unexpected appearance of a colossal figure which seemed to be mounting guard over his bicycle. As Richard started back Farmer Sharpe rose from his seat on the bank, and stood square and determined before him, the ruddy light playing upon his rugged face and shaggy hair and glorifying his white smock. One great hand still rested on the saddle of the bicycle, which it almost entirely covered. As Richard remained dumbly gazing at him, his fingers began to drum an impatient tune on its smooth surface. The young man gazed desperately first at him and then at the bicycle, filled with an insane desire to possess himself of it and ride away at full speed. But whether because his courage failed him, or because nobler and more manly feelings gained the ascendency over this momentary cowardice, he did not put the design into execution. After gazing steadily at his nephew for what seemed an interminable time, Isaac removed his hand from the bicycle and pointed in the direction of the little dell. ‘I seed ’ee there, Richard,’ he remarked in a sepulchral tone. ‘I seed ’ee there with Mrs. F.’ Richard braced himself, and looked him full in the face, but made no rejoinder. ‘’Ees,’ said the farmer, ‘I seed ye both; and I’ve been a-waiting here for ye, Richard.’ Still silence. Richard, indeed, felt that it would be useless to enter upon either explanation or apology. Mr. Sharpe’s hand crept back to the saddle and resumed its impatient tune; he planted his legs a little more widely apart, continuing the while to stare unwinkingly in his nephew’s face. When the tension had become almost unbearable, he spoke again. ‘I thought I ’d wait for ’ee here,’ he said. ‘I thought ye ’d very likely have summat to say to me.’ The young man bit his lip and clenched his hands; he could scarcely brook the expectant look in those eyes. ‘What am I to say, Uncle Isaac? I—what can I say? I’m going away at once.’