He sat lost in thought. "Is he a good man, Maude? Upright, honourable, just?" "That, and more," she whispered. "And I suppose you love him? Would it quite break your heart were I to issue my edict that you should never have him; to say you must turn him over to Octave Chattaway?" It was only a jest. Maude took it differently, and lifted her glowing face. "But he does not like Octave! It is Octave who likes----" She had spoken impulsively, and now that recollection came to her she hesitated. Squire Trevlyn, undignified as it was, broke into a subdued whistle. "I see, young lady. And so, Mr. George has had the good taste to like some one better than Octave. Well, perhaps I should do so, in his place." "But about Rupert?" she pleaded. "Ah, about Rupert. I must go to him at once. Mark Canham stared as I came through the gate just now, as one scared out of his wits. He must have been puzzled by the likeness." Squire Trevlyn went down to the hall, and was putting on his hat when they came flocking around, asking whether he was going out, offering to accompany him, Diana requesting him to wait whilst she put on her bonnet. But he waved them off: he preferred to stroll out alone, he said; he might look in and have a talk with some of his father's old dependants--if any were left. George Ryle was standing outside, deliberating as to how he should convey the communication, little thinking it had already been done. Squire Trevlyn came up, and passed an arm within his. "I am going to the lodge," he remarked. "You may know whom I want to see there." "You have heard, then!" exclaimed George. "Yes. From Maude. By-the-by, Mr. George, what secret understanding is there between you and that young lady?" George looked surprised; but he was not one to lose his equanimity. "It is no longer a secret, sir. I have confided it to Miss Diana. If Mr. Chattaway will grant me the lease of a certain farm, I shall speak to him." "Mr. Chattaway! The farms don't belong to him now, but to me." George laughed. "Yes, I forgot. I must come to you for it, sir. I want the Upland." "And you would like to take Maude with it?" "Oh, yes! I must take her with it." "Softly, sir. Maude belongs to me, just as the farms do: and I can tell you for your consolation, and you must make the best of it, that I cannot spare her from the Hold. There; that's enough. I have not come home to have my will disputed: I am a true Trevlyn." A somewhat uncomfortable silence ensued, and lasted until they reached the lodge. Squire Trevlyn entered without ceremony. Old Mark, who was sitting before the hearth apparently in deep thought, turned his head, saw who was coming in, rose as quickly as his rheumatism allowed him, and stared as if he saw an apparition. "Do you know me, Mark?"