Again the song broke off; the singer addressed a question to Grinsell. Desmond waited a moment; he felt an odd eagerness to know what Governor Pitt was; but hearing now only the drone of talking, he once more turned his face homewards. His curiosity was livelier than ever as to the identity of this newcomer, who addressed the landlord as he might his own familiar friend. And what had the stranger to do with Sir Willoughby Stokes? For it was Sir Willoughby that suffered from the gout; he it was that went every autumn and spring to Buxton; he was away at this present time, but would shortly return to receive his Michaelmas rents. The stranger had not the air of a husbandman; but there was a vacant farm on the estate; perhaps he had come to offer himself as a tenant. And why did he wear that half-glove upon his right hand? Finger-stalls, wrist-straps, even mittens were common enough, useful, and necessary at times; but the stranger’s glove was not a mitten, and it had no fellow for the left hand. Perhaps, thought Desmond, it was a freak of the wearer’s, like his red feather and his vivid neckcloth. Desmond, as he walked on, found himself hoping that the visitor at the _Four Alls_ would remain for a day or two. After passing through the sleeping hamlet of Woods-eaves, he struck into a road on his left hand. Twenty minutes’ steady plodding uphill brought him in sight of his home, a large, ancient, rambling grange house lying back from the road. It was now nearly ten o’clock, an hour when the household was usually abed; but the door of Wilcote Grange stood open, and a guarded candle in the hall threw a faint yellow light upon the path. The gravel crunched under Desmond’s boots, and, as if summoned by the sound, a tall figure crossed the hall and stood in the entrance. At the sight Desmond’s mouth set hard; his hands clenched, his breath came more quickly as he went forward. "Where have you been, sirrah?" were the angry words that greeted him. "Into the town, sir." He had perforce to halt, the doorway being barred by the man’s broad form. "Into the town! You defy me, do you? Did I not bid you remain at home and make up the stock-book?" "I did that before I left." "You did, did you? I lay my life ’tis ill done. What did you in the town at this time o’ night?" "I went to see General Clive." "Indeed! You! Hang me, what’s Clive to you? Was you invited to the regale? You was one of that stinking crowd, I suppose, that bawled in the street. You go and herd with knaves and yokels, do you? and bring shame upon me, and set the countryside a-chattering of Richard Burke and his idle young oaf of a brother! By gad, sir, I’ll whip you for this; I’ll give you something to remember General Clive by!" He caught up a riding-whip that stood in the angle of the doorway, and took Desmond by the shoulder. The boy did not flinch. "Whip me if you must," he said quietly, "but don’t you think we’d better go outside?"