Mingled with Desmond’s Irish impulsiveness there was a strain of caution derived from the stolid English yeomen his forebears on the maternal side. He felt the need, before crossing his Rubicon, of taking counsel with some one older and wiser--with a tried friend. Sir Willoughby Stokes, the squire, had always been kind to him. Would it not be well to put his case to the Squire and follow his advice? But he durst not venture to the Hall yet. His brother might suspect his errand and seize him there, or intercept him on the way. He would wait. It was the Squire’s custom to spend a quiet hour in his own room long after the time when other folk in that rural neighbourhood were abed. Desmond sometimes sat with him there, reading or playing chess. If he went up to the Hall at nine o’clock he would be sure of a welcome. The evening passed slowly for Desmond in his enforced idleness. At nine o’clock, leaving his bundle in a hollow tree, he set off toward the Hall, taking a short cut across the fields. It was a dark night, and he stopped with a start as, on descending a stile overhung by a spreading sycamore, he almost struck against a person who had just preceded him. "Who’s that?" he asked quickly, stepping back a little: it was unusual to meet any one in the fields at so late an hour. "Be that you, Measter Desmond?" "Oh, ’tis you, Dickon. What are you doing this way at such an hour? You ought to have been abed long ago." "Ay, sure, Measter Desmond; but I be goin’ to see Squire," said the old man, apparently with some hesitation. "That’s odd. So am I. We may as well walk together, then--for fear of the ghosts, eh, Dickon?" "I binna afeard o’ ghosts, not I. True, ’tis odd I be goin’ to see Squire. I feel it so. Squire be a high man, and I ha’ never dared lift up my voice to him oothout axen. But ’tis to be. I ha’ summat to tell him, low-born as I be; ay, I mun tell him, cost what it may." "Well, he’s not a dragon. I have something to tell him too--cost what it may." There was silence for a space. Then Dickon said, tremulously: "Bin it a great matter, yourn, sir, I make bold to ax?" "That’s as it turns out, Dickon. But what is it with you, old man? Is aught amiss?" "Not wi’ me, sir, not wi’ me, thank the Lord above. But I seed ya, Measter Desmond, t’other day, in speech win that--that Diggle as he do call hisself, and--and, I tell ya true, sir, I dunna like the looks on him; no, he binna a right man; an’ I were afeard as he med ha’ bin fillin’ yer head wi’ fine tales about the wonders o’ the world an’ all." "Is that all, Dickon? You fear my head may be turned, eh? Don’t worry about me." "Why, sir, ya may think me bold, but I do say this: If so be ya gets notions in yer head--notions o’ goin’ out alone an’ seein’ the world an’ all, go up an’ ax Squire about it. Squire he done have a wise head; he’ll advise ya fur the best; an’ sure I bin he’d warn ya not to have no dealin’s win that Diggle, as he do call hisself."