This is the man she was expecting--George Hawker. Ah, Vicar! how useless is your authority when lovers have such intelligence as this. It were better they should meet in your parlour, under your own eye, than here, in the budding spring-time, in this quiet spot under the darkening oaks. Hawker spoke first. "I guessed," he said, "that it was just possible you might come out to-night. Come down off the bridge, my love, and let us talk together while I hang up the horse." So as he tied the horse to a gate, she came down off the bridge. He took her in his arms and kissed her. "Now, my Poll," said he, "I know what you are going to begin talking about." "I daresay you do, George," she answered. "You and my father have quarrelled." "The quarrel has been all on one side, my love," he said; "he has got some nonsense into his head, and he told me when I met him this morning, that he would never see me in his house again." "What has he heard, George? it must be something very shocking to change him like that. Do you know what it is?" "Perhaps I do," he said; "but he has no right to visit my father's sins on me. He hates me, and he always did; and he has been racking his brains to find out something against me. That rascally German doctor has found him an excuse, and so he throws in my teeth, as fresh discovered, what he must have known years ago." "I don't think that, George. I don't think he would be so deceitful." "Not naturally he wouldn't, I know; but he is under the thumb of that doctor; and you know how HE hates me--If you don't I do." "I don't know why Dr. Mulhaus should hate you, George." "I do though; that sleeky dog Stockbridge, who is such a favourite with him, has poisoned his mind, and all because he wanted you and your money, and because you took up with me instead of him." "Well now," said Mary; "don't go on about him--he is gone, at all events; but you must tell me what this is that my father has got against you." "I don't like to. I tell you it is against my father, not me." "Well!" she answered; "if it was anyone but me, perhaps, you ought not to tell it; but you ought to have no secrets from me, George--I have kept none from you." "Well, my darling, I will tell you then: you know Madge, at our place?" "Yes; I have seen her." "Well, it's about her. She and my father live together like man and wife, though they ain't married; and the Vicar must have known that these years, and yet now he makes it an excuse for getting rid of me." "I always thought she was a bad woman," said Mary; "but you are wrong about my father. He never knew it till now I am certain; and of course, you know, he naturally won't have me go and live in the house with a bad woman." "Does he think then, or do you think," replied George, with virtuous indignation, "that I would have thought of taking you there? No, I'd sooner have taken you to America!" "Well, so I believe, George."