“Sometime after midnight. Nowt to speak of. There’s nobody looking for trouble on the marsh, barrin’ Brack, as I said. Holliday o’ Pippin has yon prize beasts o’ hisn down on the low land, an’ there’s sheep in plenty out an’ all. Tide’s low, I tell you, and it’s only been blowing since morn. We’ve seen many a worse day, you an’ me. Come on with you, lad! I tell you what it is”--he brought out the joke that had been going round all day--“it’s yon lass o’ Dockeray’s you’re after. We all know what skifted you to Canada, but I reckon you found you couldn’t quit, after all!” And again Lup put his purpose by, yielding his last chance for fear of a woman’s eyes. The turn was passed, and Denny’s stepper, eager for home, rocked over the bridge and along by the towering wall of Doestone, which, with the swaying, dripping trees facing, formed a darkening avenue in the quickening night. Then up the hill and sharp to the right, sliding down towards the west. Once on the low land, with nothing betwixt them and the sea, the whole panorama of sky and sand lay blended before them in one buffeted veil of gray, torn by the sheets of rain. Only Denny’s voice kept the horse to the wind, and now and again they had to draw into a curve of the hedge for breath. “We’ll fair catch it, coming back from the ‘Duke’!” Denny observed, in one of these pauses. “But it’ll likely blow itself out by daylight, an’ tide’s nowt, as I said.” They called at Thweng as they passed, at Lup’s request, but Brack was not indoors. His doddering old housekeeper, more than anxious to be shut of them and back to the warm kitchen, told them he was out somewhere on the land. Had he left a message for one Lup Whinnerah? Nay, what he’d left a parshel o’ messages for more than one body, and the visitor could take his choice! Ya body was to gang, an’ another body was to bide, an’ there was summat about a motor-car an’ summat else about wool, wi’ a bit o’ the Bible thrown in like, for luck. T’ master’d talk t’ hind leg off a dog, any day, an’ if they could mak’ owt of any on it, they were welcome. The draught round the door was growing unbearable, so she promptly banged it, and they withdrew, pondering. Brack and his housekeeper seemed much of a piece, and neither of them more than elevenpence in the shilling. The conviction grew upon Lup that the telegram, if not a joke, had at least been the outcome of a mad obsession, and saw himself the laughing-stock of the district. Whether he told or not, the outward circumstances would never be forgotten--how Lup Whinnerah turned tail on Canada at the last minute, and ran home as hard as he could lick. Well, Ladyford at least should have the laugh last. To-night, Denny must see him through. He stumbled thankfully into the warmth of Lockholme, and fell asleep before the fire. Denny, trying to rouse him later, heard him muttering as he slept. “Wait of me!” he was saying. “Mother! Wait!” * * * * *