The squire looked after her with the same troubled, wistful gaze, then with a deep sigh returned to the heap of papers upon the table. Olivia, with the book she had selected, and a basket of hothouse flowers, walked down to the lodge. At the little wicket gate stood Alford, Bessie’s father, smoking a pipe, which he instantly caused to disappear as he touched his hat to Olivia. “Good-morning, Alford!” she said. “How is Bessie this morning? Better, I hope.” “Yes, Miss Olivia, much better. She be more like her old self again this morning--thanks to you, miss, and Mr. Faradeane. She says to me last night that it was worth while being knocked out of the cart to get all the kindness she have had from you and him, miss. Of course, we know how good-hearted you be, miss, as we’re used to it; but we didn’t expect it from a perfect stranger, so to speak. If Bessie had been his own kith and kin he couldn’t have been more kind; and I says, I do, miss, that to set all these here stories again such a thorough, kind-hearted gentleman--ah, and true, brave-handed man, miss--is a crying shame.” “They speak ill of him! Who?” asked Olivia. Alford looked rather embarrassed, as if he had said more than he had intended. “Oh, miss, you know what Hawkwood folks be! They give every stranger a bad name if they don’t know his mother and his father, and all he’s been and what he is. And as they don’t know nothing about Mr. Faradeane, why, they just blackguard him, that’s all. I was in the George last night--I just looked in for a drop o’ brandy for Bessie, in case she wanted it,” he put in hurriedly and with a little cough, “and I heard some of ’em a-talkin’ nonsense about him; but I set ’em down, I did, miss, and pretty smartly. Harry Tucker says I cracked his skull; but don’t you believe that, miss, it’s impossible--it’s too thick.” Olivia could scarcely repress a smile at this naïve statement. “I’m afraid you will get into trouble, Alford,” she said, with her gentle gravity. “Oh, no, miss,” he responded, cheerfully, “don’t you be afraid of me. But if it meant six months in jail I’d stand for the gentleman as saved my Bessie.” “And I think you’re right,” said Olivia, with a sudden warmth which astonished Alford, and made her blush a moment afterward. “I--I mean that of course it is absurd to suppose that because Mr. Faradeane is a stranger he must necessarily be disreputable--and--and--unworthy. Why, Alford, a wicked man would never have risked his limbs for Bessie, as Mr. Faradeane did.” “Do not be too sure of that, Miss Vanley,” said a voice, and Olivia, starting, turned and saw the man she had been defending. He had come round the bend by the thick garden hedge, unperceived by either Alford or herself. Olivia stood with her hands on the gate, white and red by turns, and Alford coughed and shuffled in awkward confusion. Mr. Faradeane regarded them with a faint smile that was more sad than mirthful.