The wind, which had fought against him as he came, seemed now so impatient to get him safely back to Mrs. Simmonds, that it fairly took him by the shoulders and hurried him along, as if it knew that it was between nine and ten, and that the good lady was addicted to early hours. And perhaps Reynold himself was slightly ashamed of his moonlit vagary, and not altogether unwilling to seek the shelter of that little roof. He ran and walked down the field path, and saw the glimmering lights of the village below, small sparks of friendly welcome in the great night. When, finally, he turned into the Littlemere road, and was somewhat sheltered from the wind, he met a couple of youths, fresh from the "Rothwell Arms," harmonious in their desire to sing together, but not in the result of their efforts. About a hundred yards further he encountered the Mitchelhurst policeman. The road was quite populous and homely. He had outstripped his forebodings in his hurried race, and the question whether his landlady would think that he was very late for supper was uppermost in his mind. He opened the door, which was never fastened till Simmonds bolted it at night, and drew a breath which gave him a comprehensive idea of the variety of goods they kept in stock. With the chilly sweetness of the night air still upon him, the young man strode into his room, and confronted Barbara Strange, who rose from the sofa to meet him. All his misgivings overtook him in a moment. CHAPTER III. MOONSHINE. "Miss Strange!" he exclaimed, amazed. "Oh!" cried Barbara, "I thought you would _never_ come!" "You wanted me! You have been waiting for me! If I had known----" And while he spoke the strangest thoughts and possibilities shaped themselves in his brain, and died away again. If her presence called them up it also killed them. He saw that she was frightened. Her lip quivered, and her eyes looked larger and a little vague. She was gazing at him through a bright film of unshed tears. "If I had known," he repeated confusedly, as he stepped forward. "What is it?" They had not shaken hands in his first astonishment, and now she still looked up at him, and his hand dropped unheeded. "I don't know what you will say to me," she began. "I am so very, very sorry--I felt I must come myself and ask you to forgive me." "_I_ forgive _you_! Why," said Reynold, his eyes shining, "it is you who should forgive!" Barbara started, and the hot tears dropped, and slid over her burning blushes. She turned away, but too late to hide them. "What do you mean?" she said. "You don't know. I haven't told you yet. What do you suppose I have come for like this? What do you mean?" He drew back as if he were stung. "Well, what is it then?" She threw two letters on the table. "Letters? You came with those? Upon my word Miss Strange, it's very kind----"