"Oh dear, no! There are endless paths in the wood. He will turn off still more to the right: he cuts off a corner so going from Fordborough to his home." "Who and what is he?" was Miss Blake's next question as they emerged into the road. "Silas Fielding. He farms a little bit of old Garnett's land, and I rather think he rents an outlying field or two of my grandfather's. A horsey sort of fellow. I am not particularly fond of Mr. Silas Fielding," said Percival, and they walked a little way in silence. "You mustn't come any farther," said Addie. "Percival, I don't know how to thank you." "Don't do it, then. I see no occasion." "But I see occasion--very great occasion." "Then we will consider it done," said Percival. Mrs. Wardlaw's house was very near. "I'm not late, am I?" said Addie. He looked at his watch: "A little more than a quarter to ten--very good time. I shall watch you along this last little bit of road, and see you let in. Good-night." "Good-night." She went quickly away, and he waited as he had promised. She looked back at him once, and saw him stand, dark and motionless like a bronze statue. She reached the garden-gate, and just as a farmer's gig, with one man in it, dashed past, she ran up the little flight of steps, knocked, and was instantly admitted, as if Mrs. Wardlaw stood inside with her hand on the latch. Percival, seeing this, turned to begin his homeward walk, but as the gig rattled up to him its speed was slackened. "Mr. Thorne! Isn't it Mr. Percival Thorne?" It was the young artist driving back to the farm in Mr. Collins's old gig, and inducing Mr. Collins's old horse to go at a headlong pace. "I thought it was you standing in the moonlight," he said. "Can't I give you a lift?" Percival accepted, and they started off, if possible more vehemently than before. "I must look sharp," explained the young man whose name was Alf, "or I shall be late at the farm." "You have only just come from Fordborough?" said Percival. "No. I put up the horse and stayed later than I meant. I'd no idea that dull little hole of a town could wake up so. Why, it is flapping with flags from one end to the other. I never saw such a lot of tramps and drunken men in my life." "Charming idea you have of waking up!" "And brass bands and gypsies," the other went on. "When I wanted to come away the hostler was drunk and couldn't find the horse, and I couldn't find the gig; that is, I could find a score all exactly like this one, but as to knowing which of all the gigs in the yard belonged to old Collins, I couldn't have told to save my life." "You got it at last, I suppose?" said Thorne. The other was cautious: "Well, I got _this_. The man put the horse in somehow, and then he was so far gone he began to talk to himself and undo the harness again. I believe he thought he'd put in a pair by mistake, and was trying to take one out. However, I stopped that, and got away after a fashion." "They are early birds at the farm, no doubt?"