“She was pryin’, Mr. Tuke--she was pryin’. She didn’t let that cat out of the bag, I’ll warrant. Ever since your comin’ she’d been eatin’ her heart out to get a glimpse of the lord of Wastelands, as they call you.” “Indeed? I am happy to interest Miss Blythewood. She suffers no hurt from her mishap, I hope?” “Rest you, rest you. The hurt’s to her vanity, by Gad. ’Twas rich for her to make her bow wrong end up. She’s Miss Royston--my half-sister; and a devilish responsible legacy, by the token. She keeps house for me. I say, you’ll let us be acquainted. D’you breed from your own game-eggs? There’s a pit at Stockbridge kept by old Pollack of the inn. I’ve a duckwing cockerel, March sittin’ would torment ye;--hackles as gold as his mettle. Come Yule, I’ll back him, fifty pounds a side, against the bloodiest rooster you can show.” So he ran on. His _naïve_ self-importance, half-nullified by the frankness of his boyish confidence, was like a gush of sweet air through the enwrapping gloom of the other’s surroundings. “We’ll see,” said Mr. Tuke, with a smile--“we’ll see. At present, as you may observe, I’ve my work cut out here for months.” Sir David craned his neck over the hedge. “It’s a wilderness, good truth,” said he. “Is that Whimple? He’s a spine-broke artichoke, he is, with a worm at his root. What’s he doin’ there? Sure that’s the hole that Angel near sunk into. You ain’t never--why, you ain’t never dippin’ for that chain of hers?” “We are, though.” The youngling turned to him with a grin and a titter. “It’s a shame, by cock,” said he. “I ought to have sent a message, but clean forgot. You may save yourself the trouble. She had left it at home all the time.” Mr. Tuke, all considered, received this belated information very handsomely. “Then I have laboured like Jacob,” said he. “But my second term is yet to serve.” Sir David chuckled. “Rachel was a prodigious coquette,” he said. “Well, Mr. Tuke, I’m forgettin’ my manners keepin’ you talkin’ here.” “No, no. Come to the house.” He was reluctant to part with the bright little dandy; but the latter was already in the saddle. “Can’t,” he chirped. “I’ve an appointment at four, and Angel ’ll be faintin’ to hear tell of every word you’ve spoke. I say--I’ll draw the bow on that Jacob. You must come over to my place, and let’s be friends.” The lord of Wastelands walked with him to the gate, and bid him a cheery good-speed as he cantered away. He was dipping out of sight, when a long man, with a rod over his shoulder, came past up the road, and leered sourly as he went by at the baronet. “Come,” thought the gentleman, “I’ve seen you once before. What do you fish for in these dry beds, my friend?” He waited until the man had vanished over the hill. The latter had looked back once on his way, and seeing himself observed, had gone forward with no further token of inquisitiveness.