Oh, how happy I felt to be again by his side! But it was rather hard not to be able to take the hand that was nearest to me, and nestle up to his shoulder, and tell him how miserable I had been since last night, when he had rushed away with the dreadful threat of not seeing me again. Well, now he should see me again; he could not help himself. I felt rather nervous as to what he would say when I did discover myself. Was he still angry? Would he insist upon my getting down and going the rest of the way on foot? Or would he say more unkind things to me? Or would he be pleased to see me, and forgive me? He was not in a very conversational mood. Was he thinking of me, I wondered, or was it only that in my disguise I did not promise to prove an entertaining companion? He asked me if I was going to Beaconsburgh, and I said “Ay, ay!” again. I knew very well that a real countrywoman would not say “Ay, ay!” and I was surprised that it did not strike Laurence himself as a strange sort of answer. I began to get impatient for him to know me. I looked at him furtively; he was evidently not at all curious or interested about his companion. But he looked very grave and thoughtful; and presently, to my exceeding comfort, he pulled down over his wrists two little uncomfortable woollen cuffs that I had made, and that he had bought of me at the sale. I remembered them quite well; we had had a struggle to get them over his wrists, as I had made them a convenient size, too large for a woman and too small for a man. It seemed to me that he handled them lovingly. Upon this encouragement I spoke. “Aren’t you going to talk?” said I, in my natural voice. We had passed the hill, and were going along at a good pace; but he gave the reins such a jerk that the horse stopped. “You won’t be cross with me again, will you?” said I, anxious to pledge him to good temper while he was in the first flush of his joy at meeting me; for it was joy. He slipped the reins into his right hand and put his other arm around me and kissed me, Shetland veil and all. And so we made it up without a word of explanation. I told him my errand, and he told me his. His father had gone up to town that day to arrange for the disposal of some shares in order to purchase a farm for Laurence a few miles off, which was to be stocked, according to his promise, while his son was away. He was to return by a train which reached Beaconsburgh about ten o’clock, and Laurence was on the way to meet him. “We will call at Doctor Lowe’s first, and then you shall go on with me to the station and see my father,” said he. I protested a little that I ought to go back with the Doctor; but of course he carried his point. “What do you want a farm for, Laurence?” I asked, as we waited outside the station.