"Becca's a beast," put in Tod. "And I hope Stephen will have his neck stretched." Eunice Gibbon was nowhere to be seen below. The premises were deserted. She had made a rush to her brother's, the gamekeeper's lodge, to warn Becca of what was taking place. We started for Dyke Manor, Frank in our midst, leaving the Torr, and its household gods, including the cackling fowls and the dinnerless pigs, to their fate. Mr. Brandon met us at the second field, and he took Frank's hand in silence. "God bless you, lad! So you have been shut up there!" "And chained to a stake in the wall," cried the Squire. "Well, it seems perfectly incredible that such a thing should take place in these later days. It reads like an episode of the dark ages." "Won't we pay out Master Radcliffe for 't!" put in old Jones, at work with his imaginary handcuffs again. "I should say, for my part, it 'ud be a'most a case o' transportation to Botany Bay." Frank Radcliffe was ensconced within Dyke Manor (sending Mrs. Todhetley into hysterics, for she had known nothing), and Duffham undertook the task of breaking it to Frank's wife. Frank, when his hair should have been trimmed up a little, was to put himself into a borrowed coat and to follow on presently. Pitchley's Farm and Pitchley's roses lay hot and bright under the summer sunshine. Mr. Duffham went straight in, and looked about for its mistress. In the sitting-rooms, in the kitchen, in the dairy: he and his cane, and could not see her. "Missis have stepped out, sir," said Sally, who was scrubbing the kitchen table. "A fearful headache she have got to-day." "A headache, has she!" responded Duffham. "I don't think she's never without one," remarked Sally, dipping her brush into the saucer of white sand. "Where's Mr. Skate?" "Him? Oh, he be gone over to Alcester market, sir." "You go and find your mistress, Sally, and say I particularly wish to speak with her. Tell her that I have some very good news for her." Sally left her brush and her sand, and went out with the message. The doctor strolled into the best parlour, and cribbed one of the many roses intruding their blooming beauty into the open window. Mr. Duffham had to exercise his patience. It seemed to him that he waited half-an-hour. Annet came in at last, saying how sorry she was to have kept him: she had stepped over to see their carter's wife, who was ill, and Sally had only just found her. She wore her morning gown of black and white print, with the small net widow's cap on her bright hair. But for the worn look in her face, the sad eyes, she was just as pretty as ever; and Duffham thought so. "Sally says you have some good news for me," she observed with a poor, faint smile. "It must be a joke of yours, Mr. Duffham. There's no news that could be good for me." "Wait till you hear it," said he. "You have had a fortune left you! It is _so good_, Mrs. Frank Radcliffe, that I'm afraid to tell you. You may go into a fit; or do some other foolish thing."