He had to wait some time, as Dally had gone to keep an appointment in the meadows, and had come upon a figure leaning against a great willow pollard on the river's brink. The figure started forward out of the darkness and caught her arm, with the result that Dally uttered a little affected squeal. "La, Mr Candlish! how you made me jump!" "Why, what brings you here?" he cried, passing his arm round the girl's waist. "Now, do adone, sir; you've no business to touch me like that. What would Joe Chegg say?" "That I was a wise man, and that it was the prettiest little waist in Duke's Hampton." "Please keep your fine speeches for Miss Leo, and talk about her waist, sir, and let me go. I only come for a walk." "Nonsense! tell me. You've got a message?" "No, I haven't." "You--you have a letter?" "No," said Dally, shaking her head, and struggling just a little for appearance' sake. "Is she coming, then?" "No, she isn't; for she's too ill." "Eh? Nonsense!" "But indeed she is, sir, and confined to her bed." "And she sent you, Dally. Oh! how good of her." "No, nor she didn't send me neither, Mr Candlish; and do let go. You shouldn't." "Has she caught a cold, Dally?" "Horrid bad one; and she's gone right off her head." "Gammon!" "She has, indeed, sir; and me and cook had to hold her down: she was so bad." "Hold her down?" "Yes; and she kept on talking in a hurry like, all about the hunting and falling in the water." "Did she say anything about me?" said Tom Candlish eagerly. "About you? I should think not, indeed. You men seem to think that ladies are always thinking about you. Such stuff!" Then a long amount of whispering took place, Tom Candlish being one of those gentlemen who never fret after the absent, but possess a sailor-like power of taking the good the gods provide. At the end of five minutes there was the sound of a smart smack--not a kiss, but the contact of a palm upon a cheek. Then, from out the darkness came the expression, "You saucy jade!" following upon the rush of feet in flight. A minute later the swing gate leading into the Rectory grounds was heard to clap to, and Tom Candlish stopped in his pursuit and walked home across the fields. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. LEO MAKES A CONFESSION. "Yes, doctor, I'm better, and you needn't come again." "Yes, you're better, Moredock. Seen any more ghosts?" "Nay; I never see no ghosts. I only see what I did see; but how's young miss up yonder?" Horace North's brow wrinkled, and his voice sounded stern. "Ill, Moredock--seriously ill. Violent fever." "Fever--fever!" said the old man, backing away with unwonted excitement. "Yes, fever, you selfish old rascal!" cried the doctor irascibly. "You oughtn't to be afraid of catching a fever at your time of life." "But I am, doctor--I am," said the old man, with a peculiar change in his voice. "You see, I've just been ill, and it would be very hard to be ill again. Is--is it ketching?"