When he had watched Hirst and Reuben Gaunt go slowly through the gate at the far end of the croft and up into the pastures, the natural relapsed into his former attitude. “Get forrard, ye three wise folk!” he said, with inscrutable gravity of mien. “We’ll have th’ old devil wired and boarded in, come to-morrow’s morn.” Gaunt found no easy task before him, now that he was alone with Hirst in the upper field. The yeoman, hearty and courteous to gentle and simple alike, could rarely bring himself to be civil toward Reuben. As he put it to himself, John Hirst had a “feeling as if a rat was crawling over his chest when Gaunt of Marshlands was about.” The younger man’s courage was chilled, moreover, by the open insult Hirst had given him in face of the farm-men. “Well?” said the farmer, after a long silence. Reuben Gaunt took the fence, as he had taken many another on hunting-days. “Cilla has said she’ll marry me, and I rode down to tell you.” Hirst gasped, then rubbed his eyes, as if he woke from an evil dream and strove to shake it off. “Say that again,” he muttered. “Cilla has promised to marry me, and I’m going to be better than the Reuben Gaunt you’ve known.” It was seldom that the yeoman could find a low voice or a harsh one; but now he did, and his big, clean-cut face had in it the look of a man when he meets an enemy in righteous battle and lusts to kill him. “You’re a liar, Gaunt of Marshlands,” he said quietly. Gaunt flushed. “Will you come down to the house, then, and ask Cilla with me there, whether or no I’m a liar?” “Ay, by God I will! Seems you’re a fool, as well as a liar, or you’d never put it to the test. What, my Cilla mate wi’ the likes o’ ye? Ye’ve been drinking overmuch at race-meetings, or somewhat of that sort, to fancy such outlandish nonsense.” “Come to the house with me, and ask Cilla,” said the other, obstinately crushing down his spleen. “Is that fair, or isn’t it, Mr. Hirst?” “Fair? There’s naught fair when you come by with your slippery ways. But I’ll take ye into my house, all the same--for the last time--and I’ll set ye face to face with my lass, and we’ll shame ye out of Garth, she and me between us.” The wind, that had been quietly veering all day to north of west, blew shrewdly as they went across the croft, at the far end of which Billy was overlooking the work of his three comrades. Hirst did not heed the change of wind; he was warm with faith of his little lass, and hot with anger against Gaunt. “Come ye in,” said Hirst, leading Reuben round to the front door, whereas he would have ushered David in with little ceremony through the outer kitchen. “Come ye in, Mr. Gaunt, and I shall offer ye neither bite nor sup, though that would seem a shameful thing for Good Intent.” “Am needing none,” said Reuben. “Seems a queer thing, all the same, that when I come to you with a straight tale--”