Down the street he went in the radiant, summer evening .... he could not think .... his heart could scarcely be stirred even by terror lest he should meet his master. No! the street was still, there were even no village-people; he reached the next turn, and began to mount the hill; he passed the old stones, and the grey tower of the church; he stood at length by the yard-door of the Farm. The yard-door was open, but the yard was deserted, the pigeons fluttered, the black dog wagged its tail; he went to the back-door, and opened it, and went in. Down the passage he went to the door of Tina’s sitting-room, and before he had knocked she opened it herself. And in an instant, with a clutch upon his hand that made her little fingers seem hard as steel, she had drawn him, or almost dragged him into the room, and had closed the door upon them that they might be alone. In another instant she had forestalled his unwilling movement, and had taken the letter from the pocket of his coat. And then, with a fluttering laugh, and her finger on her lip, she ran to the further door and left the room. If the fault of Nat deserved speedy retribution it must be owned that his punishment did not fail; his feelings were not to be envied during those long minutes which he spent alone. He could not imagine what had become of Tina, or what cause had induced her to leave the room at once; a feverish dread was on him that this whole business might turn out more serious than he had imagined it to be. As the minutes passed this fever became almost like insanity, and he felt every moment in more danger of a detection which would destroy for ever all hope he had in life. He longed to pursue Tina, and yet he dared not do so; he fell down at length, almost crying, upon a chair. But even as he found himself giving way in this unexpected manner, the further door opened, and Tina entered the room again. She was pale, her eyes appeared to look into the distance, she did not seem like herself. Without saying a word, she held out the letter. Her eyes watched him as she did so. He seized it eagerly, without daring to look at it, and put it back into his pocket without a word. Then she seemed relieved, and said a few playful words, giving back to him a seal which she had once borrowed from him, and telling him that he must be a good boy and not get into a scrape, and that he must make haste with the letter to the Squire. And then, still holding his hand, she pressed it softly, and with a gentle movement pushed him from the room. Nat felt the soft touch still as, in confusion and bewilderment, he did not delay to hasten from the house. Even now it was possible for him to escape detection, and to deliver the letter safely into the keeping of the Squire. If that could be done he might yet be free from danger--that is to say, if the ‘downhill path’ will allow of ‘turning back.’