They moved to a safe spot at some distance from the ricks. The puppy lay in Rupert's arms now, and he took the torch in his hand, whilst he examined it. But not a minute had they thus stood, when some one came upon them with hasty steps. It was Mr. Chattaway. He had, no doubt, just returned from Blackstone, and was going in after leaving his horse in the stable. Jim Sanders disappeared, but Rupert stood his ground, the lighted torch still in his one hand, the puppy lying in the other. "What are you doing here?" angrily demanded Mr. Chattaway. "Not much," said Rupert. "I was only looking at this little puppy," showing it to Mr. Chattaway. The puppy did not concern Mr. Chattaway. It could not work him treason, and Rupert was at liberty to look at it if he chose; but Mr. Chattaway would not let the opportunity slip of questioning him on another matter. It was the first time they had met, remember, since that little episode which had so disturbed Mr. Chattaway in the morning--the finding of Rupert's boots. "Pray where did you spend last evening?" he began. "At the parsonage," freely answered Rupert; and Mr. Chattaway detected, or fancied he detected, defiance in the voice, which, to his ears, could only mean treason. "It was Mr. Daw's last evening there, and he asked me to spend it with him." Mr. Chattaway saw no way of entering opposition to this; he could not abuse him for taking tea at the parsonage; could not well forbid it in the future. "What time did you come home?" he continued. "It was eleven o'clock," avowed Rupert. "I went with Mr. Daw to the station to see him off, and the train was behind time. I thought it was coming up every minute, or I would not have stayed." Mr. Chattaway had known as much before. "How did you get in?" he asked. Rupert hesitated for a moment before speaking. "I was let in." "I conclude you were. By whom?" "I would rather not tell." "But I choose that you shall tell." "No," said Rupert. "I can't tell, Mr. Chattaway." "But I insist on your telling," thundered Chattaway. "I order you to tell." He lifted his riding-whip menacingly as he spoke. Rupert stood his ground fearlessly, the expression of his face showing out calm and firm, as the torchlight fell upon it. "Do you defy me, Rupert Trevlyn?" "I don't wish to defy you, sir, but it is quite impossible that I can tell you who let me in last night. It would not be fair, or honourable." His refusal may have looked like defiance to Mr. Chattaway, but in point of fact it was dictated by a far different feeling--regard for his aunt Edith. Had any one else in the Hold admitted him, he might have confessed it, under Mr. Chattaway's stern command; but he would have died rather than bring _her_, whom he so loved, into trouble with her husband. "Once more, sir, I ask you--will you tell me?"