They had jolted over the uneven stones of a narrow street, the high street of a small settlement which evidently called itself a town, for here, at a point where two narrow lanes branched off from the central thoroughfare, there stood a dilapidated old building of the town-hall species, and a vaulted market-place with iron railings and closely-locked gates shutting in emptiness. John Treverton perceived dimly through the winter darkness an old stone church, and at least three Methodist chapels. Then, all in a moment, the town was gone, and the gig was rattling along a Devonshire lane, between high banks and still higher hedges, above which rose a world of hill and moor, that melted far off into the midnight sky. ‘And your master is very fond of this young lady, Miss Malcolm?’ John Treverton inquired presently, when the horse, after rattling along for a mile and a half at a tremendous pace, was slowly climbing a hill which seemed to lead nowhere in particular, for one could hardly imagine any definite end or aim in a lane that went undulating like a snake amidst a chaos of hills. ‘Oncommon, sir. You see, she’s about the only thing he has ever cared for.’ ‘Is she as much liked by other people?’ ‘Well, yes, sir, in a general way Miss Malcolm is pretty well liked, but there is some as think her proud--think her a little set up as you may say, by Mr. Treverton’s making so much of her. She’s not one to make friends very easy; the young ladies in the village, Squire Carew’s daughters, and such like, haven’t taken to her as much as they might have done. I’ve heard my wife--as has been parlour-maid at the Manor for the last twenty years--say as much many a time. But Miss Malcolm is a pleasant-spoken young lady, for all that, to those she likes, and my Susan has had no fault to find with her. You see all of us has our peculiarities, sir, and it ain’t to be supposed as Miss Malcolm would be without hers,’ the man concluded in an argumentative tone. ‘Humph!’ muttered John Treverton. ‘A stuck-up young lady, I dare say--and a deep one into the bargain. Did you ever hear who she was--what her position was, and so on--when my cousin Jasper adopted her?’ he asked aloud. ‘No, sir. Mr. Treverton has kept that oncommon close. He’d been away from the Manor a twelvemonth when he brought her home without a word of warning to any one in the house, and told his old housekeeper as how he’d adopted this little girl--who was an orphan--the daughter of an old friend of his, and that’s all he ever said about her from that time to this. Miss Malcolm was about seven or eight year old at that time, as pretty a little girl as you could see--and she has grown up to be a beautiful young woman.’ Beautiful. Oh, this artful young person was beautiful, was she? John Treverton determined that her good looks should have no influence upon his opinions.