"We are looking for the cottage of a woodman, named Gideon Rolfe." "Never heard of it, sir. Do you know what part of the forest it is in?" "No," said Stephen. "Then it's like looking for a needle in a bundle of hay," retorted the man. "However difficult, it must be found," said Stephen. "Drive on till you come to some road and follow that. It may lead us to some place where we can ascertain the direction of this man's cottage." The man touched his horse with the whip, and still Una stood as if spell-bound, but, suddenly remembering that they were going in the opposite direction to the cottage, she was about to step forward, when she heard the bark of the dog, and almost as if he had sprung from the ground, Gideon Rolfe stood beside the carriage. "Ah, here is someone," said Stephen. "Can you tell us the road to the cottage of Gideon Rolfe, the woodman, my man?" he asked. "And what may be your business with him?" "Why do you ask, my good man?" he replied. "Because I am he you seek," said Gideon. "You are Gideon Rolfe? How fortunate." "That's as it may prove," said Gideon, coldly. "What is your business?" "It is of a nature which, I think, had better be stated in a more convenient spot. Will you kindly permit me to enter your cottage and rest?" Gideon looked searchingly into Stephen's face for a moment that seemed an age to Una, then nodded curtly, and said: "Follow me." "Will you not ride?" asked Stephen, suavely. But Gideon shook his head, and shouldering his ax, strode in front of the horse, and Stephen motioning to the driver, the carriage followed. "A charming spot, Mr. Rolfe--charming! Rather shall I say, retired, if not solitary, however." "Say what you please, sir," retorted Gideon, grimly and calmly. "I am waiting to learn the business you have with me." "Mother," he said--"this lady is my mother, Mr. Rolfe--I think, I really think you would find it pleasant and refreshing on the bench which I observed outside the door." With a little deprecatory air the lady got up and instantly left the cottage. Then Stephen's manner changed. Leaning forward he fixed his gray eyes on Gideon Rolfe's stern face and said: "Mr. Rolfe--my name is Davenant----" Gideon started, and, with a muttered oath, raised the ax. Stephen's face turned as white as his spotless collar, but he did not shrink. "My name is Davenant," he repeated--"Stephen Davenant. I am afraid the name has some unpleasant associations attached to it. I beg to remind you, if that should be the case, that those associations are not connected with any fault of mine." "Go on. Your name is Stephen Davenant?" "Stephen Davenant. I am the nephew of Squire Davenant--Ralph Davenant. The nephew of Ralph Davenant. I think you can guess my business with you." "Do you come from--him?" he asked, hoarsely. "In a certain sense, yes," he said. "No doubt you have heard the sad news. My uncle is dead." "Dead!" he repeated fiercely. "Dead. My uncle died three days ago."