They were couched in terms of friendly advice, and even of remonstrance—with sometimes a little note of anger to be read between the lines. Yet they breathed a very true and very disinterested affection, and were, in every way, full of true womanly feeling. “Ah—Margaret Barnshaw—(sometimes she signs herself ‘Madge,’ I see)—that’s the lady who’s going to marry me—which is more than I bargained for, when I stepped into Dandy Chater’s shoes. Well, I’ll go through these more carefully later on. Now, as it’s evident that I am expected at the Chater Arms, I’ll make my way there.” He did so; to the accompaniment of friendly nods, and rustic curtesyings and salutations. But at the Chater Arms he received a shock. It was a bright little place—much better and more cleanly kept than the house he had patronised on the previous day. From its well sanded floors to the black beams which crossed its ceilings, it was a picture of comfort and prosperity. And, seated behind the hospitable-looking bar, was the neatest and trimmest landlady imaginable. Yet it was precisely this landlady—or the sight of her—which gave Mr. Philip Crowdy such an unpleasant shock. As he entered the door, and she turned her head to look at him, he had but one glance at her; yet that glance was sufficient to sweep him back through many years, and across many miles of land and sea. If the woman had risen calmly and awfully from the grave, her appearance could not have been more startling to the man. The landlady, for her part, appeared to be troubled in no such fashion by his appearance. She nodded—somewhat curtly, he thought—and evidently saw in him merely the idle Dandy Chater she had been in the habit of seeing almost daily for years past. Recognising the importance of keeping a steady hand upon his emotions, Philip Crowdy nodded in reply, and approached, and leaned over the bar. “Afternoon, Master Dandy,” said the woman, fixing her eyes again on her work. Yet how familiar her voice was in his ears—and how he longed to jump over the bar, and take her portly person in his arms! “Good-afternoon,” he responded. “And I wonder,” he thought—“what your name is now!” There was a long pause; and then, in sheer self-defence, he ordered something to drink, adding, at the same time—“It’s so deadly dull up at the Hall, that I thought I’d look down to see you.” He stopped lamely, wondering if she expected him to say anything else. “Very kind of yer, Master Dandy,” she retorted quickly, flashing her black eyes at him for a moment, as she set his glass before him. “Wouldn’t yer like to step into the parlour, Master Dandy?” she added. There was no graciousness about the speech, and she was evidently in a bad humour.