"I am going to Harliflax," he said, shortly. "I have got a better appointment there. I have managed to make my own way so far, you can tell my uncle--without being obliged to any one," he added, with a sneer. "And will you write sometimes, please, Horace?" said Susan. "There are only two of us in the world; and tell me, where shall I write to you?" He laughed, as if this was an extremely unimportant matter. "I shall be with Mr. Stenhouse," he said--"Julius Stenhouse, Esq. I daresay your letters will find me, with his name." "Stenhouse, said ye? Eyeh, Mr. Horry, will that be the Stenhouse that was i' Kenlisle, in ould Pouncet's office?" asked John Gilsland, suddenly looking round. "And if it should be, what then?" asked Horace, insolently. "Oh, little matter to me," said honest John. "He's a great scoondrel, that's awl--and married that bit silly widow, poor thing!--her as didn't know when she was well off, and had good friends; though the Squire would have done for her, as I have reason to know, like a sister of his own." "What widow?" demanded Horace. "It's no concern of mine," said John Gilsland, touching the mare with his whip for a grand final dash up to the railway station. "She wasn't my widow, I reckon, nor belonging to me. Her first man was a sodger captain, another chance kind o' person, like his son, one Mr. Roger that was. What the deevil has a woman to do with a new husband, that has house and hyame o'er her head, and a likely son? Serve her right, as I aye said, and will say. They're away out of this country--but he's a great scoondrel, as I tell ye, wherever he may be."