He went into the house. Things had come to a pretty pass, when one of his men could face him out like that. The sooner he made a change and saw the rogue out of Garthmyle the better! He flung his stick into a corner and his hat on the table and damned the times. He would put the matter out of his mind. But it would not go. The taunt the man had flung at him at the last haunted him. What did the rogue mean? And at whom was he hinting? Was Arthur working against him in his own house as well as opposing him out of doors? If so, by heaven, he would soon put an end to it! And by and by, unable to resist the temptation—but not until he had sent Thomas away on an errand—he went heavily out and into the terraced garden. He climbed to the raised walk and looked abroad, his brow gloomy. The day had mended and the sun was trying to break through the clouds. The sheep were feeding along the brook-side, the lambs were running races under the hedgerows, or curling themselves up on sheltered banks. But the scene, which usually gratified him, failed to please to-day, for presently he espied a figure moving near the mill and made out that the figure was Josina’s. From time to time the girl stooped. She appeared to be picking primroses. It was the idle hour of the day, and there was no reason why she should not be taking her pleasure. But the Squire’s brow grew darker as he marked her lingering steps and uncertain movements. More than once he fancied that she looked behind her, and by and by with an oath he turned, clumped down the steps, and left the garden. He had not quite reached the mill when she saw him descending to meet her. He fancied that he read guilt in her face, and his old heart sank at the sight. “What are you doing?” he asked, confronting her and striking the ground with his cane. “Eh? What are you doing here, girl? Out with it! You’ve a tongue, I suppose?” She looked as if she could sink into the ground, but she found her voice. “I’ve been gathering—these, sir,” she faltered, holding out her basket. “Ay, at the rate of one a minute! I watched you. Now, listen to me. You listen to me, young woman. And take warning. If you’re hanging about to meet that young fool, I’ll not have it. Do you hear? I’ll not have it!” She looked at him piteously, the color gone from her face. “I—I don’t think—I understand, sir,” she quavered. “Oh, you understand well enough!” he retorted, his suspicions turned to certainty. “And none of your woman’s tricks with me! I’ve done with Master Arthur, and you’ve done with him too. If he comes about the place he’s to be sent to the right-about. That’s my order, and that’s all about it. Do you hear?” She affected to be surprised, and a little color trickled into her cheeks. But he took this for one of her woman’s wiles—they were deceivers, all of them. “Do you mean, sir,” she stammered, “that I am not to see Arthur?”