Little inclined to sleep, he went down into the garden presently, lit his cigar, and strolled on to the bridge. The night had grown clearer and some stars showed in the sky; it was nearly one o'clock. He had stood where he was only a few moments when to his surprise he heard the sound of a horse's hoofs on the road from Blentmouth. Thinking the doctor, who often did his rounds in the saddle, might have returned, he crossed the bridge, opened the gate, and stood on the high road. The rider came up in a few minutes and drew rein at the sight of his figure, but, as Harry did not move, made as though he would ride on again with no more than the customary country salute of "Good-night." "Who is it?" asked Harry, peering through the darkness. "Me--Bob Broadley," was the answer. "You're late." "I've been at the Club at Blentmouth. The Cricket Club's Annual Dinner, you know." "Ah, I forgot." Bob, come to a standstill, was taking the opportunity of lighting his pipe. This done, he looked up at the house and back to Harry rather timidly. "Lady Tristram----?" he began. "My mother has been dead something above an hour," said Harry. After a moment Bob dismounted and threw his reins over the gatepost. "I'm sorry, Tristram," he said, holding out his hand. "Lady Tristram was always very kind to me. Indeed she was that to everybody." He paused a moment and then went on slowly. "It must seem strange to you. Why, I remember when my father died I felt--besides the sorrow, you know--sort of lost at coming into my bit of land at Mingham. But you----" Harry could see his head turn as he looked over the demesne of Blent and struggled to give some expression to the thoughts which his companion's position suggested. The circumstances of this meeting made for sincerity and openness; they were always Bob's characteristics. Harry too was in such a mood that he liked Bob to stay and talk a little. They fell into talk with more ease and naturalness than they had recently achieved together, getting back to the friendliness of boyhood, although Bob still spoke as to one greater than himself and infused a little deference into his manner. But they came to nothing intimate till Bob had declared that he must be on his way and was about to mount his horse. "As soon as I begin to have people here, I hope you'll come often," said Harry, cordially. "Naturally we shall be a little more lively than we've been able to be of late, and I shall hope to see all my friends." He did not instantly understand the hesitation in Bob's manner as he answered, "You're very kind. I--I shall like to come." "Blent must do its duty," Harry pursued. Bob turned back to him, leaving his horse again. "Yes, I'll come. I hope I know how to take a licking, Tristram." He held out his hand. "A licking?" Both the word and the gesture seemed to surprise Harry Tristram. "Oh, you know what I mean. You're engaged to her, aren't you? Or as good as anyhow? I don't want to ask questions----"