Mr. Carwell owned the farm nearest to Grimleigh. It stretched directly from the ridge where the hills sloped beachwards. A broad highway running through the corn-lands lifted itself over the rise and dropped gradually down until it ran into the High Street bisecting the silt. Besides this main approach, the place was rich in paths, which ran round the meadows; these the Grimleigh folk put to the fullest possible use, both economic and romantic. A month after the disappearance of Tera two figures might have been seen climbing one of these paths. The one was Herbert Mayne, a smart yeoman squire, of handsome countenance and somewhat fickle disposition; the other Rachel Carwell, to whom for some time past the young man had attached himself. Rachel was small and rather pale; but you would not have denied her prettiness. Her brown curling hair and a neat figure and large blue eyes were attractions quite strong enough for the inflammable Herbert to lose his head over. In spite of her modest slate-coloured garb and close bonnet, Rachel knew very well that she was pretty. She in nowise resented Herbert's attentions, for he was well-looking, well-to-do, and of a good yeoman family. Her father, she knew, would approve of such a match, and as her own inclinations leaned towards it, she grudged Herbert neither her company nor her conversation. It is true that he had been wild, that there were many tales current in the district about his attentions to other girls, and that it was reported that he had once been in love with a gipsy girl; but Rachel looked upon all these things as follies of the past. Herbert was now a reformed character. He went to chapel, he attended to his farm, and he cast no glance at another woman while Rachel was by; and, although he had said no word of love to her, she quite looked on him as her future husband. She was prepared to become Mrs. Mayne whenever he should propose to raise her to that dignity. There was no romance about Rachel or her courting: all was dull and respectable, with just an element of religion thrown in, to render her position irreproachable. When the pair reached the brow of the hill, they cast one glance at a distant field, where Farmer Carwell was cutting and binding his corn, then turned to look back on Grimleigh and the distant ocean sparkling in the strong sunshine. Rachel had taken Herbert's arm to climb the hill, and she still leaned on it with girlish confidence in its strong support. After a time they sat down on a convenient seat, and Rachel, feeling hot, took off her close linen bonnet. Her hair was very beautiful. "What lovely curls you have!" said Herbert, admiringly. "It seems a shame to hide them." Rachel laughed and blushed, not ill pleased. When was a woman impervious to flattery? "It is not right that one of our congregation should give way to the vanities of this world," she said demurely. "I should put on my bonnet again, since my hair attracts your attention."