Following her father's glance, Yseulte descried a male figure crossing the stile which led into the field where they were sitting, and recognised young Vallance, who between themselves was known by the above nickname. He seemed, indeed, in a desperate hurry, judging from the alacrity wherewith he skipped over the said stile and hastened to put a goodly space of ground between it and himself before looking back. A low, rumbling noise, something between a growl and a moan, reached their ears, and thrust against the barrier was discernible from where they sat the author of it--a red, massive bovine head to wit. Struggling to repress a shout of laughter, they continued to observe the new arrival, who had not yet discovered them, and who kept turning back to make sure his enemy was not following, in a state of trepidation that was intensely diverting to the onlookers. "Hallo, Geoffry!" shouted Mr Santorex. "Had old Muggins' bull after you?" He addressed started as if a shot had been fired in his ear. It was bad enough to have been considerably frightened, but to awake to the fact that Yseulte Santorex had witnessed him in the said demoralised state was discouraging, to say the least of it. "That's worse than the last infliction of Muggins you underwent, isn't it, Mr Vallance?" said the latter mischievously, referring to the idiotic game of cards of that name. "Did he chevy you far, Geoffry?" went on Mr Santorex, in the same bantering tone. "Er--ah--no; not very," said the victim, who was somewhat perturbed and out of breath. "He's an abominably vicious brute, and ought to be shot. He'll certainly kill somebody one of these days. I must--er--really mention the matter to the governor." But there was consolation in store for the ill-used Geoffry. Having thus fallen in with the Santorex's it was the most natural thing in the world that he should accompany them the greater part of the way home. Consolation? Well, have we not sufficiently emphasised the fact that Yseulte Santorex was a very beautiful girl? It must be admitted that the future Squire of Lant did not, either in personal appearance or mental endowment, attain any higher standard than commonplace mediocrity. He was very much a reproduction of his father, though without his father's calculating and avaricious temperament, for he was a good-natured fellow enough in his way. "No harm in him, and too big a fool ever to be a knave," had been Mr Santorex' verdict on this fortunate youth as he watched him grow up. Had he been aware of it, this summing-up would sorely have distressed the young Squire, for of late during the Oxford vacation Geoffry Vallance had eagerly seized or manufactured opportunities for being a good deal at Elmcote. CHAPTER SIX. THE INDIAN VILLAGE.