Still the tireless hoofs beat on behind them. Once he glanced back. Heber was rising and falling mechanically in his stirrups with the swing of the big horse's trot, apparently less interested in him and his gig than in the fields on either side. They went by the mouth of the closed lane. The bars were up and workmen were laying a seemingly interminable drain-pipe along the very middle of it. As the little white house came in sight Saunders stared earnestly before him for Mrs. Cockshow and felt in his waistcoat pocket for the gate-money. The widow was usually in the road, but to-day there was no sign of her familiar and unforgettable shape. He drew a sharp breath of annoyance. There would be shouting and waiting and all sorts of untoward delays; possibly a fresh battle between Mrs. Cockshow and his uncle. The latter was muttering already and beginning to look, as he did when excited, like a crazy hen. Heber sat, immovable and unconcerned, on his horse when they pulled up, and Saunders raised his voice in the customary manner of travellers. The shepherd's money was in his fingers, but when Catherine came out of the tollhouse he almost dropped it into the dust. For an instant the suspicion that Charles's hateful insinuations were true came to him like a cold blast. The girl hesitated, and then, with a glance at the occupants of the gig, approached him first, holding out her hand for the toll money. He leaned down towards her. "What be you doing here, Catherine? How be you come here?" She shrank back. There was suppressed vehemence in his tone. "Don't be afeared o' me," he exclaimed, "I won't hurt ye, my girl." "I live wi' Mrs. Cockshow," she faltered. "She's at the market." "Come on, come on, ye slut!" screamed Saunders's uncle. "Am I to wait here all day for you to be sweetheartin' wi' every vagabond feller on the road?" Heber had dismounted, and as Catherine, bewildered, was about to obey the cattle-breeder, he held her back. He took no notice of the outburst, but he led her up to the side of the gig on which Charles sat. "Tell me the truth, Catherine," he said, "be you livin' wi' this man or be you not?" "_Livin_' with him--with _him?_" she exclaimed. "Yes, you be hussy enough for anything, I'll be bound!" cried the old man's shrill voice. "Let me go on, I tell 'e; open the gate! Who cares a damn who ye be livin' with?" "He told me, not an hour back, that he was keepin' you," continued Black Heber, unmoved, pointing at Charles. "Be that true? Answer me, girl." "It's a lie," cried Catherine, in a shaking voice. "So help me God, it's a lie!" He loosed his hold on her. "Open the gate, Catherine," said he quietly. Then he took Charles's cob by the head and looked up at its driver. "Will ye drive on, like the lyin' cur ye are, or will ye come down now and have it out wi' me?" "Let my horse go!" screamed the cattle-breeder. "Who be you, ye thief, stopping me an' my nephew in the road?"