“Take care, uncle,” said Kate. “There is dry furze here. If the spark falls, there may be a blaze.” He extinguished the match with his fingers. He did not desire that his course should be marked by fires. “Is there much furze here, Kitty?” he asked in a smothered voice. “Oh no! only just under foot.” “No great heap in a corner?” “None, uncle.” “Not enough to cover you over if you were asleep.” Kate laughed and answered, “I would never lie on furze if I could help it, and be covered with it—I should be tormented with prickles. I sat down and laid my head against the hedge that makes the back of the linhay.” He was prodding the bedding of furze with his whip. “It is all fresh,” said Kate. “I reckon Miller Ash is going to turn his cow in here, when he has taken away her calf.” “Ah! she has calved?” “Yes; last week.” “True—the cow will be here to-morrow, or in a couple of days.” To himself he muttered, “It won’t do”—then aloud, “Jump into the cart, Kitty. We must push on. You drive out, I will open the gate.” In another minute Pasco Pepperill was in his seat with Kitty at his side, driving in the direction away from the Cellars. He feared every moment to hear her say, “Uncle, what is that light shining over Coombe? Can there be a fire?” Instead of that she said, “Uncle, did you see nothing of my father? I am quite sure that was he who drove by after we had got into Mr. Ash’s field. I heard his voice. I know his way with the donkey. I am quite certain that was father.” “Your father?—no. Never set eyes on him. You were mistaken.” “I am sure it was my father. I know the rattle of the cart wheel.” “I say it was not; and take care how you say a word about ever having gone into the field, and about my having returned to the Cellars.” “Why, uncle?” “Because Ash will summons me for trespass, and because my horse ate the grass. That’s one reason; but there’s a better one—I don’t choose that you should speak.” Kate was accustomed to his rough manner, and she did not answer. Then Pasco’s mind began to work on the theme that had occupied it before. He had been seen driving out of Coombe with Kate at his side. But what of that? Would it not be a sufficient answer to give, were she not to be seen again, that he had met Jason Quarm on the road, and that the man had taken his daughter with him, and that thereupon both had perished in the flames? The more he considered the matter, the more essential to his security did it seem to him that Kate should be got rid of. The only embarrassment he felt was as to the means to be employed, and the place where it was to be done. Not till she was removed could the weight now oppressing his mind be cast off. “Uncle,” said Kate after a long course in silence, “I cannot think how that lucifer acts, if there be no flint and no steel. How else can the match be made to light?”