’I dun know, but he be cruel bad; and the mistress were looking along the Okehampton road every day, and hoping as you would come. You’ve been such a long, long time away, and us can’t get on without you no ways, that you knows very well.’ He was a help to some. His presence was desired by some. Only to Mirelle he was unwelcome. ’Be this house yours?’ asked Joyce, looking round. ’I won’t say but her’s comfortable wi’ fire and can’l and all sorts; but her’s none so big as West Wyke, and not such a wonderful sight bigger than the Giant’s Table. I know when I gets back, Miss Cicely will be asking of me about it; what sort of a place her be, and whether her be big or small, and built of stone. Her’s all of board, just like some of them places they runned up to Ophir, where the gold was. But that be all tore abroad now.’ Poor girl, she was hungry. The bread was hard as biscuit, but she ate it eagerly. Herring gave her some hot wine and water. ’The old Squire be axing after you the first thing in the morning. And he do fret wonderful for you. Miss Cicely do say it be like a child wanting his nurse. He be gone a ’bit tottle’ (foolish), ’I reckon.’ ’I shall go back to West Wyke to-morrow, Joyce.’ ’O glory rallaluley! I be glad. I’ll have a wink of sleep, and then I’ll be fresh as a buttercup to go wi’ you. I may go along of you, mayn’t I now, maister dear?’ ’Yes, Joyce. You shall not walk, you shall ride.’ ’I rided once afore wi’ you,’ she answered, ’but you know nort about that. It were when you were nigh upon dead, and I held your head in my arms all the way, and you never waked but once, and that were on Sourton Down, and then you held out your hands, entreating like, and cried something, and that were all, and never spoke no more.’ ’What did I cry out?’ She looked steadily into his eyes, and said in a low tone, ’Mirelle.’ He covered his face, as a spasm contracted his heart. Joyce had touched too recent a wound for him to endure the touch without shrinking. Joyce saw that he was in pain. She went to him, and, kneeling at his feet, drew his hands away from his face, and looked into it; then shook her head. ’Her don’t belong to you yet then?’ ’No, and never will.’ He spoke with bitterness. ’You be changed, maister dear. I never seed you afore like as you be now. You look just about a score of years older than what you was once. Is it the Whiteface has done it, or what be it, maister darling? Tell your own Joyce, and see if her won’t go through ice and snow to serve you any day, if her can.’ ’You can do nothing for me.’ Still she looked at him, holding his hands, trying to read his secret in his face, with eyes full of earnestness. Then, suddenly, there came a revulsion in his thoughts.