“And in the autumn I can promise you some fair shooting. The keepers tell me that the birds are looking well. I hope you intend staying with us. We’ve a very good pack of foxhounds, and I know that you ride, for I have heard one of my grooms expatiating on the fine qualities of your horse.” “Thank you again, sir,” said Mr. Faradeane. “He is a fairish hunter, and a very good companion. Yes, I intend remaining for some time, I hope, in Hawkwood. I have purchased The Dell, as you may have heard.” “Yes,” assented the squire, almost reddening angrily as he thought of the unwarranted suspicions Mr. Sparrow had given expression to about the newcomer. “I came to The Dell for rest,” said Mr. Faradeane, “and had intended playing the hermit, but”--and the rare smile shone in his eyes for a moment--“but your kindness has rendered that impossible.” “I should think so,” returned the squire, with unusual heartiness. “You are not the stuff of which hermits are made, Mr. Faradeane, and I am only afraid we shall trespass on your good nature. Hawkwood does not get a novelty very often, and will, very properly, regard you as an acquisition. I understand my sister Amelia has already cajoled you into assisting at one of her local enterprises. Take care! If you give an inch to one of these charitable ladies, they will take an ell!” “It is a very small inch,” said Harold Faradeane, simply. “I am only going to recite at some penny readings.” “And the next thing she will want you to do will be to take a tray at a tea-meeting,” said the squire, with a laugh. “Would that be very difficult?” inquired the younger man, with such quaint gravity that the squire burst into a laugh of keen appreciation. It happened that Olivia was passing through the hall at the moment, and the sound of her father’s laughter, which had become so rare of late, almost startled her. “Who is in the drawing-room?” she asked of the butler. “The squire, miss, and Mr. Faradeane of The Dell,” he replied. Olivia stopped short with a sudden throb of her heart that sent the blood to her face, and she bent down and gathered the skirt of her habit--she had just come in from a gallop--to hide it. “Mr. Faradeane, the new gentleman, miss,” said the butler, and he moved toward the door as if to open it for her, but Olivia shook her head. “No, I am not going in,” she said, and went quickly upstairs. As she did so, the drawing-room opened, and she heard the squire say, in his most genial tone--the tone which indicated that he was peculiarly well pleased, “You must let me show you round the old place, Mr. Faradeane,” and she paused and listened for the grave, musical voice replying in the affirmative; then, leaning over the old oak balustrade, looked down at them as they passed out, with a strange expression on her lovely face--an expression which it had never yet worn for any man she had seen!