“Mr. Gaunt,” said Cilla, as they rattled forward, “it is odd that you should be going to Keta’s Well to-day. I go so seldom, and you would be riding, surely, if you were not lazy?” “You want to know my business there?” “No. Why should I need to know it? Perhaps you are going to buy another horse.” “I’ll tell you my business on the way home, Cilla, because then I’ll know whether it is speeding well or not.” Cilla’s eyes rested lightly on his, then danced away to the grey, far hills. The girl was a madcap this morning, and deserved to be; for she had many working days, but enjoyed few spendthrift days of holiday, with a green world and warm spring winds about her. “As you will,” she answered. “For my part, I have father’s work to do.” With a flourish, as if he carried great personages--Will was never so happy as when driving Cilla of the Good Intent--the coach drew up at Keta’s Well. There was an inn on the left hand of the grey, wide roadway, another on the right, and the two were so friendly, as it chanced, that Will baited and took his dinner at either hostelry upon alternate days. Priscilla took Gaunt’s hand daintily, and clambered down into the roadway. “We say good-by here?” she murmured, with a shy flush. “Yes,” he answered, “until Will is ready to drive us home again.” “Yet ’tis only a good walk to Garth for one as strong as you.” “I am lazy to-day, Cilla, as you told me. You go on your business, I on mine. Remember that the mail goes back at five o’clock.” The men all said it was a devil’s trick of Gaunt’s to know just when to stay and when to leave; the women, most of them, found the trick praiseworthy; and Reuben, had you asked him, would have laughed, like the man-child he was, and have said that he deserved neither praise nor blame, since he was as the good God had made him. At any rate, he had judged wisely now in guessing that Priscilla would shrink from sharing a meal with him. Priscilla of the Good Intent dined sparingly at the inn on the left hand of the road, where the landlady mothered her always after a brisk, impersonal fashion. Reuben dined at leisure in the right-hand inn, and sauntered out a half-hour after Cilla--punctilious always, even in the midst of a holiday, when business was to be done--had crossed the street and walked up into the grey bridle-way that sought the fell-top farms.