That evening, Dan paid a visit to Mr. Jarner in order to confess his newly born passion. After the rebuff he had received from Miss Linisfarne, he judged it as well to enlist the sympathy of the vicar, so that if the one retarded the other would speed his wooing. Miss Linisfarne had taken up a distinctly hostile attitude towards Meg. She monopolized Dan all the tea-time, and seemed displeased when he addressed the girl even in the most casual manner. Dan was quite unaware of her reason for acting thus, and so wished to seek the advice and assistance of Mr. Jarner. The vicar was installed in the oaken parlour, and, according to his usual custom, had placed himself at the open window with his beer and his long clay pipe. There was no light in the room save what was given by the soft twilight. Dan hailed his host outside, and was bidden to enter with hearty hospitality. "Hey, lad, I'm glad to see you," said Mr. Jarner, in his usual loud voice; "come inside--come inside. A tankard and a pipe and a chat ye shall have. Down, Jane! Down, Mike!"--this to the yapping terriers. "Come in, my lord." "Hush!" said Dan, pausing on the threshold of the parlour; "not that name here." "Ay, ay! I forgot. It is Dan I'm to call you. Sit ye down. Yonder's the chair. Wait, and I'll light up." "Not on my account, sir," said his visitor, seating himself on the window seat. "Let us sit down here and enjoy the beauty of the evening. It is good to live on days like these. You remember Keble on the evening, vicar?" "Ay, sir; Keble and Cowper. Both knew the quiet of eventide. Isn't that a pretty picture, sir?"--the vicar pronounced it 'pratty.' "Yon's the church tower black against the clear glow of the sky. Bats and owls are abroad; I've been watching their flittings. And hark, if you have a soul for music, Dan." "The nightingale!" "He's in the thicket yonder, and sings his evening hymn nightly to me. To think that yonder strain is but an invitation to battle--the cock nightingale calling to his rival!" "Then all the sorrow of the bird----" "Comes from the poets. Poetic invention, sir! though I don't deny the ideal view is finer than the real. But we can talk of birds and beasts another time. What brings you here, Dan?" "A desire for your company, vicar." "Pooh-pooh, sir! Am I a young maiden that ye should come slipping through the dark to talk with me? You've--ay, ay, here's a tankard for you, Dan. Come, drink up!" "To tell you the truth, Mr. Jarner, I wish to speak seriously with you," said Dan, after they had pledged each other in ale. "Is it about those mysteries, Dan? Have you found out anything new?" "I have seen Miss Linisfarne." The vicar laid down his pipe on the window sill, and, with his hands on his knees, stared in surprise at his visitor. The news astonished him.