The group was composed of two. The poacher's daughter and Rolph, who, with his arms tightly clasping the girl's tall undulating form, had drawn her, apparently by no means unwillingly to his breast, against which she nestled with her hands resting upon his shoulders. The girl's face was half hidden, while Rolph was smiling down upon her, whispering something to which she lent a willing ear, and then, raising her face, she was offering her pouting lips to his, when her half-closed eyes suddenly became widely opened, her whole form rigid, and, thrusting Rolph back, she slipped from his arms, bounded through a gap in the woodland hedge like some wild creature, and disappeared amongst the trees. Rolph caught sight of the on-coming figure almost at the same moment, the spasmodic start given by Judith warning him that there was something wrong. He seemed for a moment as if about to yield to the more easy way out of his difficulty, and leap into the wood, but he stood his ground, and, as Oldroyd came slowly on, said to him,-- "How do, doctor? Perhaps you've got a light? I want one for my cigar. Thanks." His coolness was staggering. "Is it a fact about that girl's father being still at home and out of work?" "Yes," replied Oldroyd shortly. "He has been at the point of death." "Has he, though?" said Rolph. "I'm glad of that. One don't like to be imposed upon, and to find that when one has given money in charity that it has been a regular do. Nice day. Good-morning." "Knows I can't tell tales, damn him! I'm no spy," muttered Oldroyd, as he ambled along on the miller's pony. "I've got quite enough to do to study my own profession, and to try and cure my patients without worrying myself in the slightest degree about other people's business, but I can't help it if they will be holding clandestine meetings just under my noble Roman nose--Go on, Peter." Peter lifted his head and whisked his tail; then he lowered his head, and kept his end quiescent, as he went on at the old pace, while the young doctor continued musing about the interview that he had been called upon to witness. "I should not have been out here if old Mother Wattley had not been taken ill once more, for the last time, poor old soul. I believe she'll live to a hundred. I was obliged to come, though. I don't suppose anybody passes along this lane above once a month. I'm the only one who has come down this week, and of course I must be there just when the athlete was having an interview with Judith Hayle. Humph! there are other poachers in the world besides those who go after rabbits, hares and pheasants."