The man took charge of it, and she alighted. Traversing the little roadside station, she looked to where the fly generally stood; but no fly was there. The station-master waited for her ticket. "Is the fly not here?" she inquired. "Seems not," answered the master indifferently. But as he spoke he recognised Lady Level. "I beg your pardon, my lady. The fly went off with some passengers who alighted from the last up-train; it's not back yet." "Will it be long, do you know?" "Well--I---- James," he called to the porter, "where did the fly go to?" "Over to Dimsdale," replied the man. "Then it won't be back for half an hour yet, my lady," said the station-master to Lady Level. "Oh, I can't wait all that time," she returned, rather impatiently. "I will walk. Will you be good enough to send my bag after me?" "I'll send it directly, my lady." She was stepping from the little platform when a thought struck her, and she turned to ask a question of the station-master. "Is it safe to cross the fields now? I remember it was said not to be so when I was here last." "On account of Farmer Piggot's bull," replied he. "The fields are quite safe now, my lady; the bull has been taken away." Lady Level passed in at the little gate, which stood a few yards down the road, and was the entrance to the field-way which led to Marshdale House. It was a warm evening, calm and sunny; not a leaf stirred; all nature seemed at rest. "What will Archibald say to me?" she wondered, her thoughts busy. "He will fly into a passion, perhaps. I can't help it if he does. I am determined now to find out why I am kept away from Marshdale and why he is for ever coming to it. This underhand work has been going on too long." At this moment, a whistle behind her, loud and shrill, caused her to turn. She was then crossing the first field. In the distance she espied a boy striding towards her: and soon recognised him for the surly boy, Sam Doughty. He carried her bag, and vouchsafed her a short nod as he came up. "How are you, Sam?" she asked pleasantly. "Didn't think about its being you," was Sam's imperturbable answer, as he walked on beside her. "When they disturbs me at my tea and says I must go right off that there same moment with a passenger's bag for Marshdale House, I took it to be my lord's at least." "Did they not let you finish your tea?" said Lady Level with a smile. "Catch 'em," retorted Sam, in a tone of resentment. "Catch 'em a letting me stop for a bite or a sup when there's work to do; no, not if I was starving for 't. The master, he's a regular stinger for being down upon a fellow's work, and t'other's a----I say," broke off Mr. Sam, "did you ever know a rat?--one what keeps ferreting his nose into everything as don't concern him? Then you've knowed James Runn." "James Runn is the porter, I suppose?" said Lady Level, much amused.