There was another witness of whom they were more aware, for as they passed once more by the bushes of the Manor Farm it was observed by a few amongst the lads that the dark eyes of a girl were peeping from over the fence at them. The boys who observed her whispered amongst each other, and cast furtive glances, and appeared to feel interest; but the demands of business would not allow of delay, and they were obliged to go onwards with the rest. For one moment the dark face was raised to look after them; then it disappeared, and was not seen again. Unheeding, the Rantan went round and round the village, for the enthusiasm was not exhausted soon; and with tumult, shouting, and some attempts at speeches, the hours of the evening were uproariously worn away. Once, twice more it paused before Jenny Salter’s home, and brayed, and clashed, and groaned out its loudest there; but the cottage remained, as before, closed and dark, and after a prolonged pause each time it went on again. The red, lovely glow that hovered round the horizon turned pale and faded, and the dimness of twilight came, the first stars began to shine out in the sky, and slowly the darkness of night encompassed all. And then the procession poured into a field upon the hill, and there gave vent to some final hoots and groans, and then all dispersed in their several directions, and left the fields and the village to the silence of the night. The boy who had been in hiding by the stone-pit, had waited to be sure that they had all dispersed; he raised his head now, and looked around with caution, and then through the darkness and stillness he stole off to his home. CHAPTER IV THE HOME THAT WAS RANTANNED IN that home the lamp had been lighted for the evening, and the mother and daughter sat in silence at their work, for the timid efforts of poor Jenny at conversation had been negatived by the determined silence of her child. Yet, though Annie had been quiet, it had not been the quietness of resignation, she had trembled and quivered like a frightened animal; and during the uproar that had been three times repeated had been scarcely able to keep herself in her seat. It had not been terror by which she was moved, but rage; a rage that glowed in her eyes and worked in her troubled lips, a condition of feeling that was no doubt assisted by her physical weakness, but which was yet such shattering agitation as only the sensitive can feel. Her face had inherited much beauty from her mother, but it was a more vivid beauty, more easily seen and felt; and in its best moments had never the look of patience that had belonged to her mother in her girlish days. Yet, as I have said, the eyes of any stranger would, no doubt, have proclaimed her the more beautiful of the two.