She was clearly fencing with him; clearly not telling all the truth. He did not blame her. But he felt that helplessness, that irritation, of the male whose bull-headed rush is baffled by the woman's weapon, imponderable as air, elusive as twilight, soft and blinding as a fog; the weapons she has wrought in self-defence upon the anvil of her necessities through the immemorial ages of her evolution. "He asked you to burn it, I suppose?" said Ernie bitterly. Her bosom heaved. She did not answer him. "Ah," continued Ernie remorselessly. "He knew you. Took advantage to the end." Ernie was troubled for the moment by the incident, but the emotion it aroused in him was pity rather than anger. Ruth had deceived him, he was sure. He did not believe that Royal had written her a letter. So skilled an adventurer, so expert a cad, would be little likely to commit himself on paper in such a matter. That ten-pound note had wound up the incident for him. But the shifts to which a girl in Ruth's position must inevitably be driven seemed to him excusable, even in this case, admirable. Royal had betrayed and deserted her; and she repaid his treachery by a steadfastness beyond words. With the capacity of true love, he made beauty out of an obvious blemish. Here was a woman indeed!--Here was a lover! Quietly he persevered. CHAPTER LVIII THE DOWER-HOUSE When his father asked him how the chase went, Ernie answered with a grin, "She hangs back a bit, dad. I spun and I pounced. What next?" "Spin again," said the old man. "First the web; then the fly; and last the cocoon." Ernie chuckled. Lying on the hillside amid the gorse and scrub he had often watched the spider at his work. The method was exactly as described by his father. The hunter spun his web and then retired to an ambush to wait. When the prey was caught and the wires brought the message to the citadel, he pounced. Next with incredible speed he wrapped his victim round in silk till it was but a swathed mummy to be absorbed at leisure. "It's what I am a-doin, dad," said Ernie, and continued to wind his silken meshes about his prey; while others aided in the pleasant conspiracy. One August afternoon Mrs. Trupp, after calling at the Dower-house, looked in at Frogs' Hall. The little river ran like a white riband across the Brooks under shaggy willows tossing silvery tails. A flotilla of ducks came down the stream and landed quacking under the white bridge clumsily to climb the bank and waddle towards Parson's Tye. On the lower slopes of Wind-hover the corn still stood in sheaves, the stubble ruddy in the sunset on the bow-backed foothill across the stream. Ruth sat and listened to her friend; on her face the perturbed look of the good woman genuinely determined to do what is right and honestly puzzled as to her course. "Don't you love him, Ruth?" asked the other. "Is that the trouble?" The young woman was deeply moved.