To resolve and to act were one and the same thing with Jack Newcombe. Going into the adjoining room, he got out of the woodman's and into his own clothes, and carefully restored the skins and the cloak to the cupboard. Then he put the remainder of the loaf into his pocket, to serve as breakfast later on, then paused. "Can't go without saying good-by, and much obliged," he muttered. A bright idea struck him; he tore the blank leaf from an old letter which he happened to have with him, and after a few minutes' consideration--for epistolary composition was one of the Savage's weakest points--scribbled the following brief thanks, apology, and farewell: "Very much obliged for your kindness, and sorry to have been such a bore; shouldn't have intruded if I'd known ladies were present. Will you oblige me by accepting the inclosed"--he hesitated a moment, put back the sovereign which he had taken from his pocket, and filled up the line--"for your wife." Instead of the coin, he wrapped up a ring, which he took from his little finger. He smiled, as he wrapped it up, for he remembered that the wife had particularly large hands; and he thought, cunningly, "_she_ will get it." Having placed this packet on the top of the cheese, he took a last look round the room, glanced toward the stairs rather wistfully--it was neither the woodman nor his wife that he longed to see--gently unbarred the door, and started on his road. Choosing a sheltered spot, the Savage pulled out his crust, ate it uncomplainingly, and then lay down at full length, with his soft hat over his eyes, and while revolving the strange events of the preceding night, and striving to recall the face of the young girl, fell asleep. CHAPTER IV. A more beautiful spot for a siesta he could not have chosen. At his feet stretched the lake, gleaming like silver in the sun, and set in a frame of green leaves and forest flowers; above his head, in his very ears, the thrushes and linnets sang in concert, all the air was full of the perfumes of a summer morning, rendered sweeter by the storm of the preceding night, which had called forth the scent of the ferns and the honeysuckle. As he lay, and dreamt with that happy-go-lucky carelessness of time and the daily round of duties which is one of the privileges of youth, there rose upon the air a song other than that of the birds. It was a girl's voice, chanting softly, and evidently with perfect unconsciousness; faintly at first, it broke upon the air, then more distinctly, and presently, from amongst the bushes that stood breast high round the sleeping Savage, issued Una. The night had had dreams for her, dreams in which the handsome face, with its bold, daring eyes, and quick, sensitive mouth, had hovered before her closed eyes and haunted her, and now here he lay at her feet. How tired he must be to sleep there, and how hungry! for, though she had not seen the note--nor the ring--she knew that he had gone without breakfast.