Thus he made three separate visits to Rosham before he succeeded in meeting Henry. On the first occasion he discovered that it was his practice—for by now Henry could get about—to walk round the home-farm after breakfast. Accordingly Rock returned on the following day; but the weather chanced to be bad, and Henry did not come out. Next morning he was more fortunate. Having put up his cart at the village inn, he took his stand upon an eminence, as though he were a wandering poet contemplating the beauties of Nature, and waited. Presently he saw Henry appear out of a cow-shed and cross some fields in his direction, whereon Samuel retreated behind a hay-stack. Five minutes passed, and Henry hobbled by within three yards of him. He followed at his heels, unable to make up his mind how to begin the interview, walking so softly on the grass that it was not until Henry observed another shadow keeping pace with his own that he became aware of his presence. Then, not unnaturally, he wheeled round suddenly, for the apparition of this second shadow in the open field, where he had imagined himself to be alone, was almost uncanny. So quickly did he turn, indeed, that Samuel ran into him before he could stop himself. “Who the devil are you?” said Henry, lifting his stick, for his first thought was that he was about to be attacked by a tramp. “Oh! I beg your pardon,” he added: “I suppose that you are the person who is coming to see me about the Five Elms farm?” “I’ve been waiting to see you, sir,” said Samuel obsequiously, and lifting his hat—“in fact, I’ve been waiting these three mornings.” “Then why on earth didn’t you come and speak to me, my good man, instead of crawling about after me like a Red Indian? It’s easy enough to find me, I suppose?” “It isn’t about a farm that I wish to see you, sir,” went on Samuel, ignoring the question. “No, sir, this ain’t no matter between a proud landlord and a poor tenant coming to beg a few pounds off his rent for his children’s bread, as it were. This is a matter between man and man, or perhaps between man and woman.” “Look here,” said Henry, “are you crazed, or are you asking me riddles? Because, if so, you may as well give it up, for I hate them. What is your name?” “My name, sir, is Samuel Rock,”—here his manner suddenly became insolent,—“and I have come to ask you a riddle; and what’s more, I mean to get an answer to it. What have you done with Joan Haste?” “Oh! I see,” said Henry. “I wonder I didn’t recognise you. Now, Mr. Samuel Rock, by way of a beginning let me recommend you to keep a civil tongue in your head. I’m not the kind of person to be bullied, do you understand?” Samuel looked at Henry’s blue eyes, that shone somewhat ominously, and at his determined chin and mouth, and understood. “I’m sure I meant no offence, sir,” he replied, again becoming obsequious.