"I hope so. But that's no reason why for we should waste it. 'Tis all wasted till I get you." She put her hand out to him, and he caught it and held it. "It might be a long sight worse," she said. "'Tis only a matter of patience." "There's no need for patience, and there lies the cruelty. However, I'll push him hard when he comes home. Tokened I will be to 'e--not in secret, but afore the nation." "Look!" she said. "Two men riding up over. Go a bit further off, there's a dear." Rupert looked where she pointed, and then he showed no little astonishment and concern. "Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "If 'tisn't my Uncle Humphrey Baskerville; and Mark along with him. What the mischief sent them here, of all ways? Can't we hide?" But no hiding-place offered. Therefore the young people rose and walked boldly forward. "He's going out to Hen Tor to look at they ruins, I reckon," said Milly. "I met your cousin Mark a bit ago, and he told me his father was rather interested in that old rogues-roost of a place they call Hen Tor House. Why for I can't say; but that's where they be riding, I doubt." Two men on ponies arrived as she spoke, and drew up beside the lovers. The elder exhibited a cast of countenance somewhat remarkable. He was a thin, under-sized man with grey hair. His narrow, clean-shorn face sloped wedge-shaped to a pointed chin, and his mouth was lipless and very hard. Grotesquely large black eyebrows darkened his forehead, but they marked no arch. They were set in two patches or tufts, and moved freely up and down over a pair of rather dim grey eyes. The appearance of dimness, however, was not real, for Humphrey Baskerville possessed good sight. He was sixty-three years old, and a widower. He passed for a harsh, secretive man, and lived two miles from his elder brother, Vivian Baskerville, of Cadworthy. His household consisted of himself, his son Mark, and his housekeeper. "Good morning, Uncle Humphrey," said Rupert, taking the bull by the horns. "You know Milly Luscombe, don't you? Morning, Mark." Mr. Baskerville's black tufts went up and his slit of a mouth elongated. "What's this then?" he asked. "Fooling up here with a girl--you? I hope you're not taking after your good-for-nothing brother?" "Needn't fear that, uncle." "How's Mr. Luscombe?" asked the old man abruptly, turning to the girl. Milly feared nobody--not even this much-feared and mysterious person--and now she turned to him and patted his old pony's neck as she answered-- "Very well, thank you, Mr. Baskerville, and I'm sure he'd hope you are the same." The tufts came down and he looked closely at her. "You playing truant too--eh? Well, why not? 'Tis too fine a day for work, perhaps." "So it is, then. Even your old blind pony knows that." "Only blind the near side," he answered. "He can see more with one eye than many humans can with both." "What's his name, please?" "I don't know. Never gave him one."