‘Well, I, too, stop a little this side of the town,’ said Rosalie. ‘But poor Nigger will never get so far. What am I to do? I must get home to-night.’ ‘There is a village a mile or so from here,’ observed the young man. ‘I think your best plan would be to leave the horse at the inn there. They would probably lend you another to take you home. If you will get into the trap I will lead the horse slowly back.’ ‘Oh no, I will walk,’ cried Rosalie; ‘I can lead him myself,’ she added diffidently. ‘I don’t like to take you out of your way—besides, you have your bicycle. I suppose you are going to Dorchester?’ ‘I can go to Dorchester any time,’ returned he. ‘’T is merely a fancy of mine that takes me there. I’ve a wish to see the old place again, having been away from it for ten years. But I am really on my way to visit my uncle. If you know Branston, I dare say you have met him. He lives near Littlecomb Village, at a place called the Down Farm.’ ‘Mr. Isaac Sharpe!’ ejaculated Rosalie. ‘Indeed, I do know him. I live next door to him.’ She broke off, not deeming it necessary to disclose, on so short an acquaintance, her peculiar relations with the person in question. ‘Good!’ cried the young man gaily. ‘It is strange our meeting like this. I am Richard Marshall, his nephew. You live next door to him, you say,’ he added, with a puzzled look; ‘then you must be—you are—?’ ‘I am Mrs. Fiander,’ returned she. ‘You remember Elias Fiander, of Littlecomb Farm?’ ‘Of course I do; and I used to know his wife.’ ‘Oh, you have been so long away that a great many changes have taken place. I was Elias Fiander’s third wife.’ ‘Was?’ cried he. ‘Yes,’ said Rosalie blushing, she knew not why. ‘My dear husband died last July.’ The look of blank dismay which had overspread the young man’s face gave way to an expression of relief; but he made no reply. Rosalie took hold of the nearest rein, turned Nigger round, and began to lead him slowly up the hill again. ‘I can really manage quite well,’ she said, somewhat stiffly. ‘I must see you out of your difficulties,’ returned the other with quiet determination; and he too began to retrace his steps, pausing a moment at the crest of the hill to repossess himself of his bicycle, which he had left propped against the bank. ‘I will ride on to the village,’ he said, ‘and make arrangements about leaving your horse there and getting a fresh one. It will save time, and there is none to spare if you want to get home before dusk.’ He raised his cap, mounted, and disappeared before Rosalie had time to protest.