"That's what took me round by Dip Lane," acquiesced St. George, slightly smiling; "and which seems to have led to this misapprehension. But don't give my humanity more credit than it deserves. Previously to this I had been debating in my own mind whether to take the round, seeing what a journey was before me. It was about the wildest night I ever was out in, the horse could hardly make head against the wind, and I thought we might feel it less in the small and more sheltered by-ways than in the open road. Taking up the traveller decided me." "You put him down in Dip Lane, at the turning that leads to Evesham," remarked the Squire. "Yes, I put him down there. It was just after you passed us. He thanked me heartily, and walked on; and I drove quickly home, glad enough to reach it. Who he was, or what he was, I do not know, and did not ask." Tod was still in a quandary; his countenance betrayed it. "Did you notice that he resembled William Brook, St. George?" "No. It did not strike me that he resembled any one. His face was well wrapped up from the cold, and I did not get a clear view of it: I am not sure that I should know it again. I should know his voice, though," he added quickly. Poor Aunt Hester, listening to all this in dismay, felt the disappointment keenly: the tears were stealing down her face. "And we have been drinking his health, and--and feeling so thankful that he was safely back again!" she murmured gently. "Hang it, yes," added Mr. Delorane. "Well, well; I dare say a day or two more will bring him. I must say I thought it odd that you should not have mentioned it to me, St. George, if he had come." "I should have thought it very odd, sir," spoke St. George. "Will you take a glass of wine?" "No, thank you; I have not time for it. Those deeds have to be gone over, you know, sir, before post-time," replied St. George; and he left the room. "And if ever you two boys serve me such a trick again--bringing me over with a cock-and-bull story that people have come back from sea who haven't--I'll punish you," stuttered the Squire, too angry to speak clearly. We went away in humility; heads down, metaphorically speaking, tails between legs. The Squire kept up the ball, firing away sarcastic reproaches hotly. Tod never answered. The truth was, he felt angry himself. Not with the Squire, but with the affair altogether. Tod hated mystification, and the matter was mystifying him utterly. With all his heart, with all the sight of his eyes, he had believed it to be William Brook: and he could not drive the conviction away, that it was Brook, and that St. George was giving him house room. "I don't like complications," spoke he resentfully. "Complications!" retorted the Squire. "What complications are there in this? None. You two lads must have been thinking of William Brook, perhaps speaking of him, and so you thought you saw him. That's all about it, Joe."