How soothing in his ear sounded the murmur of the Taw, rushing over the old grey granite boulders, breaking from the moor to run a quiet course through rich meadows and among pleasant groves. The gentle rush had a lullaby effect on the troubled heart of the walker. A very different sound this from the boom of the Atlantic against Willapark and the churning of the imprisoned billows in Blackapit. A track led off the road to Upaver. How was the mine getting on? The track was well trampled and the wheel marks many; that was a cheering sign. Hard by stood a post which Tramplara had set up, painted white, with a board on it and a hand pointing moorwards, ’To the Gold Mines of Ophir.’ Some one had scrambled up the post, scratched out the ’To,’ and written in its place ’Damn,’ giving thereby coarse but emphatic expression to the general sentiment. Herring smiled bitterly as he noticed this. Next he came to the cottages. ’Good evening, sir! Glad to see you home again.’ The speaker was a labourer returning to his fireside, his day’s work over. Herring did not remember him, but the man knew him, and his tone showed pleasure. Home!—was this home? ’How is all going on with you?’ asked Herring. ’Well, sir, my missus hev given me another little maiden. That makes fourteen childer. Eight maidens and six boys, but we’ve a buried three.’ ’You have your quiver full.’ ’They bring their love wi’ them, sir; and that, I reckon, you’ll find when you’ve a home of your own, and a wife, and the little uns coming every year.’ Herring sighed. ’Good evening, sir. Here be my nest.’ ’Good-night.’ Then Herring went on—home? Before him was West Wyke, and the last glimpse of the sun was on it. The window of West Wyke it was that had flashed the welcome to him. The old ash trees, the old gateway with the grey owls, the old chimneys, the old ivy-mantled porch, the old firelight flickering through the hall window. A moment more, and the old welcome. With an exclamation of delight, Cicely sprang from a stool by the fire to meet him, as he entered without knocking; entered as he would to his home. He was no stranger, to knock and ask for admission. He went straight in, and in a moment felt that he ought to have more hands than two to give to those who grasped them. The old Squire and Cicely held him. ’Oh, John, dear cousin John, you have come at last!’ ’John, John, I am so glad to see you again.’