Kellock was young; he had loved Medora in the full measure of a reserved nature, and to-day she deluded him to the limit of his possibilities. Her complete triumph indeed almost frightened her. For a few moments he became as earnestly concerned as on the great occasion when he had asked her to marry him. Then she calmed the man down, and told him that he must not waste his time on her troubles. “It’s selfish of me to tell you these things—perhaps it’s wrong,” she said, truly enough; but he would not grant that. His emotion was intense; his pain genuine. Her intuition told her that here was a man who might err—if ever he erred—in just such a situation as she was creating. She was surprised to find the ease with which it was possible to rouse him, and felt this discovery enough for that day. She grew elated, but uneasy at the unexpected power she possessed. Her sense of humour even spoke in a still, small voice, for humour she had. Chance helped her to end the scene, and, a hundred yards from home, Ned himself appeared with his gun over his shoulder and a hare in his hand. Dingle was in cheerful spirits. “A proper afternoon I’ve had,” he said. “Ernest Trood asked me to go out shooting along with him and some friends, and we’ve enjoyed sport, I promise you. A rare mixed bag. We began in the bottom above the Mill, and got a woodcock first go off, and then we worked up and had a brace and a half of partridges, a brace of pheasants, and a hare, and eight rabbits. I knew what you’d like, Medora, and I took a partridge, and the hare for my lot. I shot them, and four rabbits and one of the pheasants.” “What a chap for killing you are,” said Jordan, while Ned dragged a partridge from his pocket and handed it to his wife. Nobody loved nice things better than she, but she took the bird pensively and stroked its grey and russet feathers. “Poor little bird, your troubles are ended,” she said. Then she assumed a cheerful air, which struck Jordan as unspeakably pathetic. “I’ve been busy, too. Look at my blackberries.” Ned praised the blackberries, and in his usual impulsive fashion offered Kellock the hare; but Jordan declined it. “Thrown away upon me,” he said. “Come and help us to eat it one night then,” suggested Dingle, and Medora echoed his wish. “I’m sure you’re very kind. I’ll come up to supper any evening, if you mean it.” Then he mounted his bicycle and rode off down the hill. “He came along from Totnes, while Daisy and I were picking blackberries, and he stopped and would carry my basket for me,” she explained. “He looked a bit down in the mouth, didn’t he?” “He was. He’s such a man to feel other people’s troubles.” “Whose? Not yours, I should hope?” She laughed.