In spite of this drawback, however, her progress was, in its way, royal. Throned in the wagon she passed slowly along the main road. Placed thus high and with trunk and head emerging from the wicker cone like an amazing flower, she was undoubtedly a queer figure; but the people who came running up the lanes and out of the houses along the route, to give her the blessing of their good wishes, missed the queerness. They had known her all the forty years of her life. She was part of the setting in which they played their humble parts. A little prejudiced in her favour through long association, this display of primitive courage moved them. They welcomed it as in keeping with the family tradition, as something worthy, and they offered it the kind encouragement of hearty handshakes and good words. "I be pretty an’ glad to see yer come ’ome again, ma’am. Terrible, terrible accident, you must ’av ’ad; still you don’t seem to make much of’t. Mary Elizabeth’s brought ’ee a few lilies." "That trolly be a clever thought of yours, Mrs. Byron. I never see nothing like it before." "I reckon you’ve ’ad a draggin’ time, ma’am. We’m all glad to ’av ’ee back again." "Do ’ee take and drink up this cup of milk and eat a bit of yeller cake or ’ee’ll be faintin’ before ’ee come to Trevorrick," said a farmer’s wife. "If ’ee’d like a glass of wine now, you’ve only to say the word, and you can ’av it," interposed the landlord of the Dolphin; "I’d be proud to serve ’ee." "I be come ’ome," said Sabina to her charioteer as they jogged on and her voice had a contented ring. She had forgotten the disappointment of Leadville’s absence. She was come back to her own people and her own place and she was welcome. The young man lifted a smiling face and she remembered that this was the ’pretty boy’ who was courting her niece. She looked at him with interest. He was certainly good-looking, definitely so, a tall slim youth with a fine profile, deeply-set dark-blue eyes, black hair and a small tawny moustache. She wondered how the courtship was progressing. Gray, with cloudy hair about a wind-flower face, would make a charming bride. Sabina’s thoughts ran nimbly forward. She saw the young couple housed at Wastralls, Rosevear working the farm under her direction and the old cradle once more in use. The prospect promised her an autumn happiness. Wonderful indeed, the way in which the wind is tempered to the shorn! When the farm cart turned off the highway by St. Cadic Mill, Sabina found Constantine Rosevear and his wife waiting by the roadside. The big florid man, though he had wife and three grown sons, had never been able to forget that Sabina was the woman he should have married. His Betsey was all right but, about Sabina, lingered the glamour of romance.