The girl's face was burning, and she ran out of the place to hide her tears, while John Maine, whose intention had been to say something very different, sighed bitterly, and went back to his room. There, however, everything looked blacker than ever, and he could see nothing in the gloom--devise no plan. He knew that the best proceeding would be to set the scoundrels he had seen that morning at defiance--that everybody whose opinion was worth a rush would applaud his frank declaration that he had turned from his evil courses to those which were reputable; but then the people he knew--Mr Bultitude--Jessie--the vicar--his friends in Dumford--what would they say? There seemed to be but one chance for him--to pack up a few things in a bundle and go and seek his fortune again elsewhere--perhaps to live in peace for a few years before he should be again hunted down by some of the wolves amongst whom his early lot had been cast. "John--John!" He started. It was Jessie calling, and hastily going downstairs, it was to see her with the flush gone out of her cheeks, and looking pale and anxious, as she held out a strip of paper. "Two rough-looking men gave this to the boy for you," she said, looking at him in a troubled way. He took the paper hastily, and turned away with a dark red glow spreading over his temples. He divined who had sent the note, and shivered as he thought of how the boy would chatter to everybody about the farm. Perhaps Jessie had questioned him already, and set him down as being the friend and companion of the senders: Turning away, he walked out into the yard to find that the paper had originally been used for holding an ounce of tobacco, and upon it was scrawled in pencil: "We ave bin spekkin yu hat the krikt fele Ude betr cum." "2 OLE FRENDS." "You had better come!" What should he do? Set them at defiance or go away at once? Torn by doubts he could do neither, but stood hesitating, till, in a fit of desperation, he strode off in the direction of the cricket-field. He had saved a little money, and he might perhaps bribe them to take it and go, leaving him in peace, though he felt the while that such a proceeding would only be an invitation to them to come back, and demand more; but even if they did, a fortnight's respite was worth all he possessed; and, besides, it would give him time to turn round and devise some plan for freeing himself of his incubus. To reach the cricket-field he had to pass the back-door of the vicarage; taking, as he did, the cut through the fields; and as he neared it, separated from it by a high hedge, his blood turned cold as he heard Mrs Slee's shrill voice exclaim: "You can't miss it: the second tunning to the right, and then it's the second field." "And you wean't buy the bud then, mum--that theer goldfinch as I told you off?" "Bird, no," cried Mrs Slee; "what do I want with such clat. Let the poor thing go. You ought to be ashamed of yoursens."