And this led me to perceive that ’twould be prodigious unjust in me to cause Dorothy and her servant to suffer for either the one or the other of my faults, and that ’twas my duty to give all my pains henceforth to render them happy. And this arrived at, I did rise up from the ground, somewhat ashamed of this outburst of unmanly despair, and did turn my steps towards home, revolving many things in my mind. For I determined that if Dorothy’s unknown servant should prove a convenient match for her, as I could scarce doubt but he should, I would see them safely married and resign to them Ellswether for to dwell in, and return myself with Loll Duss to East India, entreating the Company to have me appointed to Bombaim or Bengall, whither few do go by choice, these places being esteemed deadly for the English. And musing upon these plans, I could not resist comparing ’em with my joyous anticipations in returning home, and bewailing myself therefor, and so wandered on (having forgot that I had told Mrs Packworth I must needs hasten home), until the darkness began to overtake me while I was yet in the wood. And upon this I made haste to find the right path, fearing lest it should become pitch-dark, and I miss my road. Hastening on, then, in the way I had chosen, I saw in front of me the form of a woman wrapped in a hooded cloak, hurrying very fast as though in fear. I could scarce believe my eyes, but yet to me that shape wan’t to be mistook, and I come up with the woman quickly, and touched her on the arm. She turned round with a face that was white even in the twilight, but cried out with delight for to see me. “Oh, Ned, ’tis only you!” she said, and took my hand, for all the world as though we had been children together again. “What do you here, cousin, at this hour and alone?” said I. “I have been to see Jobson’s wife,” says she, “and to carry her some broth.” “Jobson the poacher?” says I. “Ay,” says she, “but poachers’ wives have need of meat and physic as well as other men’s.” “I don’t chide you for that, cousin,” says I, “but for your coming here alone. ’Tis commonly known that Jobson is a rude and dangerous fellow, and much given to strong liquors, and I would not have you fall in with him when he is in his cups. Sure Miles should have been with you, with a lantern and a cudgel.” “He was ready to come,” said she, “but I preferred to be alone, and so bid him go back.” “Would Mrs Skipwith approve of this, cousin?” I asked. “I never asked her,” says Dorothy. “I an’t a small child, Cousin Ned, to be bid where to go, and chid for all I do.” “No, indeed,” says I. “I can well remember, Doll, the time when Mrs Skipwith was governess to you, but now you do seem to me to govern her.” She laughed, yet not all pleasantly. “I am well ruled, none the less,” said she.