She then related to him what she had noticed in Miss Lavender's manner, and learned of her movements. He stood before her, listening, with his hand on the mane of her horse, and his eyes intently fixed on her face. She saw the agitation her words produced, and her own vague fears returned. “Can you guess her business, Gilbert?” she asked. “Martha,” he answered, “I only know that there is something in her mind, and I believe it concerns me. I am afraid to guess anything more, because I have only my own wild fancies to go upon, and it won't do to give 'em play!” “What are those fancies, Gilbert? May I not know?” “Can you trust me a little, Martha?” he implored. “Whatever I know, you shall know; but if I sometimes seek useless trouble for myself, why should I seek it for you? I'll tell you now one fear I've kept from you, and you'll see what I mean.” He related to her his dread that Sandy Flash might prove to be his father, and the solution of it in the highwayman's cell. “Have I not done right?” he asked. “I am not sure, Gilbert,” she replied, with a brave smile; “you might have tested my truth, once more, if you had spoken your fears.” “I need no test, Martha; and you won't press me for another, now. I'll only say, and you'll be satisfied with it, that Betsy seemed to guess what was in my mind, and promised, or rather expected, to come back with good news.” “Then,” said Martha, “I must wait until she makes her appearance.” She had hardly spoken the words, before a figure became visible between the shock-headed willows, where the road crosses the stream. A bay horse--and then Betsy Lavender herself! Martha turned her horse's head, and Gilbert hastened forward with her, both silent and keenly excited. “Well!” exclaimed Miss Betsy, “what are you two a-doin' here?” There was news in her face, both saw; yet they also remarked that the meeting did not seem to be entirely welcome to her. “I came,” said Martha, “to see whether Gilbert could tell me why you were hiding in the woods, instead of coming home.” “It's that--that good-for-nothin' serpent, Jake Fairthorn!” cried Miss Lavender. “I see it all now. Much Gilbert could tell you, howsever, or you him, o' _my_ business, and haven't I a right to it, as well as other folks; but never mind, fine as it's spun it'll come to the sun, as they say o' flax and sinful doin's; not that such is mine, but you may think so if you like, and you'll know in a day or two, anyhow!” Martha saw that Miss Lavender's lean hands were trembling, and guessed that her news must be of vital importance. “Betsy,” she said, “I see you don't mean to tell us; but one word you can't refuse--is it good or bad?”