“How is no matter to me—kindle it does, somehow.” Then, abruptly, “Have you got your cotton dress on? The wind is from the east and chilly.” “Oh no, uncle, I have on my thick woollen dress, and am very warm—thank you kindly for considering me.” “The thick wool, is it?” “Yes, uncle—very sure, very thick and warm.” Then that would not do. It had occurred to him to drop a lighted match on her frock, set her in flames, and throw her out into the road at a lonely spot. No, that would not do. He reversed his whip and beat the cob with the handle. “Diamond is not going badly, uncle,” said Kate in mild remonstrance. He was in reality trying the weight of the whip handle and the stiffness of the stem. That would not effect his purpose; there was no metal to signify at the butt-end. The horse did not greatly mind a blow dealt it with a full swing of its master’s arm. Pasco bore no malice against his niece. In his cold fashion he liked her. She was useful in the house, and saved him the expense of a maid. It was doubtful whether any servant would have been as submissive to Zerah as was Kitty, whether any would have continued so long in service to her. He had forgotten his momentary resentment at Kate refusing the offer of John Pooke. He wished the girl ill for no other reason than his own safety. Had he been able to send her away, out of the country, that would have satisfied him. But as there was no opportunity for getting her out of the way without hurt to himself, she must be removed by such means as were possible to him. How to do this, and where to do it, remained undecided. Not where he then was could it be attempted, for he was now approaching Newton. The lights were twinkling through the trees, cottages were passed with illumined windows, and sometimes with persons standing in the doors. On entering Newton, Pepperill turned his horse’s head to make a detour, so as to avoid passing the inn that had been rebuilt after having been burnt down. For some reason undefined in his own heart, he shrank from driving before that house. In a few minutes the cob was trotting along the Ashburton road. Pasco looked behind him. He heard the sound of the hoofs of another horse, and the rattle of other wheels. Some traveller was on the road that night. “Uncle,” said Kate, “I think the moon is going to rise.” “I suppose so.” “Will it not be grand on the moor, with the moon shining over it, and the Dart flowing like silver below?” “Silver? I wish it were silver, and I’d pocket it,” growled Pasco. “Dang it! what is that which is following?” He slackened his pace, but the conveyance did not pass him; it approached, and the driver was content to keep in the rear. “Will you go on?” shouted Pasco, turning his head. “No, we’ll remain as we are,” answered the driver. “How far are you going?” “To Ashburton.” Well, thought Pasco, the loneliest, wildest part of the road is that between Ashburton and Brimpts.