That day, Thursday, we had news of Don. And we had it in this way. Tobias Jellico--who had a small draper's shop at Evesham, and went about the country with a pack, out of which he seduced unwary ladies to buy finery, more particularly some of our ladies living in Piefinch Cut--was at Church Dykely to-day on one of his periodical visitations. We did not like the man or his trade; but that's neither here nor there. Hearing that the Squire's dog was lost, he at once said he had seen Dick Standish that morning in Bengeworth (a portion of Evesham) with a large Newfoundland dog. White-and-brown, he called it; which was a mistake, for Don was white and black; but Jellico might not know colours. It was Mr. Duffham who brought us this news in the afternoon: he had been sent for to Lena, whose throat was getting worse. Duffham heard it from Perkins the butcher, to whom Jellico told it. I don't know which item pleased the Squire most: that Don was found, or that the guilt of Tuesday night was traced home to the Standishes; for the three brothers had in general a certain gentleman's own luck, and were rarely caught. "Don went out roaming, through that villain Giles unloosing him and leaving the yard gate open," decided the Squire, in his excitement. "The dog must have sprung upon them; he has a mortal enmity to tramps and poachers, you know, Duffham; and the Standishes captured him. I'll send a message to the police at Evesham at once, to look after Mr. Dick, and go over myself in the morning." "Anyway, I'm glad the dog's found," said Duffham. "But what an idiot Dick Standish must be to allow himself to be seen with the dog in the public streets." "Johnny," said the Squire, turning to me as he was leaving the room to send a man galloping on horseback to the Evesham police, "you run over to Caramel Cottage. Make my compliments to young Reste; say that I am going to drive to Evesham to-morrow morning, and shall be happy to take him if he likes to accompany me. I offered to drive him over some day before he left, but this bother has caused me to delay it. Shall start at nine o'clock, tell him." About the time the Squire was charging me with this message, Katrine Barbary was sitting in the homely garden at Caramel Cottage, amidst the fruit trees, the vegetables, and the late flowers. The October sunlight fell on her pretty face, that somehow put you in mind of a peach with its softest bloom upon it. Katrine was striving to see daylight out of a mass of perplexity, of which I then knew nothing, and she could not discern a single ray. Why should that fine young barrister, Edgar Reste, staying with them so peacefully for several weeks past, and fully intending to stay this week out--why should he have run away by night, leaving behind him an atmosphere of mystery? This question would never leave Katrine's mind by night or by day.