Since she would not meet him before the end of the next day—what an interminable stretch of empty time the interval appeared!—he knew his best course was to return at once to John Tarby’s cottage. But he found it so hard to drag his legs farther from the Foxwell mansion, that he decided to remain concealed among the bracken, on the possibility that she might change her mind and revisit the garden that evening. In this hope he tarried till an hour after nightfall, without reward. He then betook himself reluctantly, with the pangs of hunger and the sighs of disappointment for company, to where his road left the park. At that place Tarby was waiting, and with little speech the two made their way homeward. Everell took the lead, that he might test his knowledge of the path; twice or thrice he had to fall back upon the poacher’s guidance, but on these occasions he made such note of landmarks as should assure him of going right in future. When they arrived at the cot, Everell gave a different reception to his host’s mention of supper from that which he had given on the previous night. Though love had enabled him to go all the day without food, it did not weaken his appetite now that supper was to be had. John Tarby proved to be no mean cook, and the Jacobite officer, the rustic poacher, and the poacher’s dog partook together of a hearty though simple meal with manifest enjoyment. But love, not to be denied its proverbial effects in all things, asserted its presence by robbing Everell of some hours of sleep, and by directing his dreams when at last his eyes did close. The next day was but a repetition of that which had gone before, save that the love-sick young gentleman, by taking the forethought to provide himself with bread and cheese, was able, as he reclined among the bracken, to pay some observance to dinner-time when it arrived. At last the slow sun descended upon the Westward hills. A bit of its rim still showed over the sky-line, when Everell glided into the garden, his heart beating faster than ever it had beat when he was going into battle. Georgiana did not keep him waiting long. She came down the steps, with her finger on her lip, and with the maid Prudence, all excitement, at her heels. “Oh, lor!” whispered Prudence at first sight of Everell; “Oh, lor!” again, when, having taken her station near the steps, she saw Everell lead her mistress up the lane of shrubbery; and “Oh, lor!” a third time when the young man, not yet trusting himself to speech, raised Georgiana’s hand in his trembling fingers to his lips.