“Bringing the world with you,” she mocked him. He looked at her almost savagely, white-faced. Then in silence he swung on his heel and went off through the trees. Six paces he had taken when he came face to face with an elderly, grave-faced gentleman in the clerkly attire of a churchman, who was pacing slowly reading in a book. The parson raised his eyes. They were long-shaped blue eyes like Nancy’s, but kindlier in their glance. “Why, Randal!” he hailed the boy who was almost hurtling into him, being half-blinded by his unshed tears. The youth commanded himself. “Give you good-morning, Mr. Sylvester. I ... I but came to say good-bye....” “Why, yes, my boy. Your father told me....” Through the trees came the girl’s teasing voice. “You are detaining the gentleman, father, and he is in haste. He is off to conquer the world.” Mr. Sylvester raised his heavy grey eyebrows a little; the shadow of a smile hovered about the corners of his kindly mouth, his eyes looked a question, humorously. Randal shrugged. “Nancy is gay at my departure, sir.” “Nay, nay.” “It affords her amusement, as you perceive, sir. She is pleased to laugh.” “Tush, tush!” The parson turned, took his arm affectionately, and moved along with him towards the house. “A mask on her concern,” he murmured. “Women are like that. It takes a deal of learning to understand a woman; and I doubt, in the end, if the time is well spent. But I’ll answer for it that she’ll have a warm welcome for you on your return, whether you’ve conquered the world or not. So shall we all, my boy. You go to serve in a great cause. God bring you safely home again.” But Randal took no comfort, and parted from Mr. Sylvester vowing in his heart that he would return no more betide what might. Yet before he quitted Potheridge he had proof that Mr. Sylvester was right. It was in vain that day that Nancy awaited his return. And that night there were tears on her pillow, some of vexation, but some of real grief at the going of Randal. Very early next morning, before the village was astir, Randal rode forth upon the conquest of the world, fortified by a tolerably heavy purse, and that brand-new sword--the gifts which had accompanied his father’s blessing. As he rode along by the wall above which the cherry blossoms flaunted, towards the grey rectory that fronted immediately upon the road, a lattice was pushed open overhead, and the head and shoulders of Nancy were protruded. “Randal!” she softly called him, as he came abreast. He reined in his horse and looked up. His rancour melted instantly. He was conscious of the quickening of his pulses. “Nan!” His whole soul was in his utterance of the name. “I ... I am sorry I laughed, Randal, dear. I wasn’t really gay. I have cried since. I have stayed awake all night not to miss you now.” This was hardly true, but it is very likely she believed it. “I wanted to say good-bye and God keep you, Randal, dear, and ... and ... come back to me soon again.”