“She’ve got a power over him as I never thought no female could get over Dan,” said Prowse. “That’s because you’m a green boy an’ don’t know what the power of the female be yet,” answered Bartley. “There he is!” he added. “He’m sitting in the trap outside, an’ Mr Henry’s speaking to him.” Sweetland and the rest turned their eyes to the window. “He’s borrowed the trap from Butcher Smart,” said Daniel’s father. “He’s going to drive Minnie out to the Warren Inn on Dartmoor this evening. There’s a cottage there, within two miles of Vitifer Mine; an’ if she likes it, he’s going to take her there to dwell after they’m married.” At the door of the White Hart stood a horse and trap. A young woman held the reins and beside the vehicle two men talked and walked up and down. The threads of their lives were closely interwoven, though neither guessed it. Birth, education, position separated them widely; it had seemed improbable that circumstance could bring them more nearly together; but chance willed otherwise, and time was to see the friendship of their boyhood followed by strange and terrible tests and hazards involving the lives of both. Young Henry Vivian had just come down from Oxford. His career was represented by a first-class in Classics and a “Blue” for Rugby football. He thought well of himself and had a right to do so. He had imbibed the old-fashioned, crusted opinions of his race, and his own genius and inclinations echoed them. He was honourable, upright and proud. He recognised his duty to his ancestors and to those who should follow him. Time had not tried him and, lacking any gift of imagination, he was powerless to put himself in the place of those who might have stronger passions, greater temptations and fewer advantages than himself. Thus his error was to be censorious and uncharitable. Eton had also made him conceited. He was a brown, trim, small-featured man, with pride of race in the turn of his head and haughty mouth. His small moustache was curled up at the ends; his eyes were quick and hard. He placed his hand on Daniel Sweetland’s shoulder as they walked together; and he had to raise his elbow pretty high, for Dan stood six feet tall, while young Vivian was several inches shorter. “We’re old friends, Daniel, and I owe you more than you’d admit--to shoot straight, and to ride straight too, for that matter. So it’s a sorrow to me to hear these bad reports.” “Us don’t think alike, your honour,” said Daniel. “But for you I’d do all a man might. There’s few I’d trouble about; but ’twould be a real bad day for me if I thought as you was angry with me.” “Go straight then--in word and deed. With such a father as Matthew, there’s no excuse for you. And such a wife, too. For I’ll wager that young woman there will be a godsend, Daniel. My mother tells me that Lady Giffard at Westcombe says she never had a better servant.” Daniel’s eyes clouded at a recollection.