Wet and draggled, he looked every inch a gentleman--in Gideon's suit of worn velveteen he looked one still. Silent and motionless, Una watched him. "Yes," he said, "I got some lunch at the inn--'Spotted Boar' at Wermesley--about one o'clock, I suppose. I have never felt so hungry in my life." "Wermesley?" said the wife. "Then you came from----" "London, originally. I got out at Wermesley, meaning to walk to Arkdale; but that appears to be easier said than done, eh?" Gideon did not answer; he seemed scarcely to hear. "I can't think how I missed the way," he went on. "I found the charcoal burner's hut, and hurried off to the left----" "To the right, I said," muttered Gideon. "Right, did you? Then I misunderstood you. Anyhow, I lost the right path, and wandered about until I came back to this cottage." "And you were going to stay at Arkdale? 'Tis but a dull place," said Mrs. Rolfe. "No; I meant taking the train from there to Hurst Leigh----Hurst Leigh," repeated the young man. "Do you know it? Ah," he went on, "don't suppose you would; it's some distance from here. Pretty place. I am going to see a relative. My name is Newcombe--Jack Newcombe I am generally called--and I am going on a visit to Squire Davenant." Gideon Rolfe sprang to his feet, suddenly, knocking his chair over, and strode into the lamplight. The young man looked up in surprise. "What's the matter?" he asked. With an effort Gideon Rolfe recovered himself. "I--I want a light," he said; and leaning over the lamp, he lit his pipe. Then turning toward the window, he said: "Una, it is late; go to bed now." She rose at once and kissed the old couple, then pausing a moment, held out her hand to the young man, who had risen, and stood regarding her with an intent, but wholly respectful look. But before their hands could join, the woodman stepped in between them, and waving her to the stairs with one hand, forced the youth into his seat with the other. CHAPTER III. A hearty meal after a long fast invariably produces intense sleepiness. No sooner had the young gentleman who was called, according to his own account, Jack Newcombe, finished his supper than he began to show palpable signs of exhaustion. He felt, indeed, remarkably tired, or be sure he would have demanded the reason of the woodman's refusal to allow his daughter to shake hands. For once in a way, Jack--who was also called "The Savage" by his intimate friends--allowed the opportunity for a quarrel to slide by, and very soon also allowed the pipe to slide from his mouth, and his body from the chair. Rousing himself with a muttered apology, he found that the woodman alone remained, and that he was sitting apparently forgetful of his guest's presence. "Did you speak?" said Jack, rubbing his eyes, and struggling with a very giant of a yawn. Gideon looked round. "You are tired," he said, slowly. "Rather," assented the Savage, with half-closed eyes; "it must have been the wind. I can't keep my head up."