This, as I have just said, was on Saturday. We saw Mr. Reste and Katrine at church the next day: a place Barbary did not often trouble with his presence; and walked with them, on coming out, as far as the two ways lay. Our people liked the look of Edgar Reste, but had not put themselves forward to make much acquaintance with him, on account of Barbary. One Tuesday, when the Squire was driving to Alcester, he had overtaken Mr. Reste walking thither to have a look at the market, and he invited him to a seat in the carriage. They drove in and drove back together, and had between the times a snack of bread and cheese at the Angel. The Squire took quite a fancy to the young barrister, and openly said to him he wished he was staying anywhere but at Caramel Cottage. "You are thinking of leaving soon, I hear," said the Squire, as we halted in a group when parting, on this same walk from church. "In about a week," replied Mr. Reste. "I may go on Saturday next; certainly not later than the following Monday." "Shall you like a drive to Evesham between this and then?" went on the Squire. "I am going over there one of these days." "I shall like it very much indeed." "Then I will let you know which day I go. Good-bye." "Good-bye," answered Mr. Reste, lifting his hat in salute to us all, as he walked on with Katrine. Am I lingering over these various trifling details? I suppose it will seem so. But the truth is, a dreadful part of the story is coming on (as poor Katrine said of the poaching) and my pen holds back from it. * * * * * A day or two had gone on. It was Tuesday morning, warm and bright with sunshine. Katrine sat in the parlour at Caramel Cottage, pouring out the coffee at the breakfast-table. "Will you take some ham, Katrine?" "No, thank you, papa; I have no appetite." "No appetite! nonsense!" and Mr. Barbary put a slice of ham on her plate. "Do you feel inclined for a walk as far as Church Leet this morning, Edgar?" "I don't mind," said Mr. Reste. "About three miles, is it not?" "Three miles across the fields as straight as the crow flies. I want to see a man who lives there. He--why, that's Pettipher coming here!--the postman," broke off Mr. Barbary. Letters were not written every day then, and very few found their way to Caramel Cottage. Old Joan went to the door, and then came in. She was like a picture. A dark-blue linsey gown down to her ancles, neat black stockings and low, tied shoes, a check apron, and a bow of black ribbon perched in front behind the flapping border of her white muslin mob-cap. "Pettipher says 'tis for the gentleman," said Joan, putting the letter, a thick one, on the table by Mr. Reste. "Why, it is from Amphlett!" he exclaimed, as he took it up, looking at the great sprawling writing. "What on earth has he got to say?" Opening the letter, a roll of bank-notes fell out. Mr. Reste stared at them with intense curiosity.