They landed at the little wharf, among the colliers, and made their way up the street to an inn, where, after ordering a meal to satisfy the ravenous sea-appetite, Mr. Fellowes, after a few words with Naomi, left the ladies to their land toilet, while he went to hire horses for the journey.

Then Naomi could not help saying, “O Anne!  I did not think you would have done this.  I am grieved!”

“You do not know all,” said Anne sadly, “or you would not think so hardly.”

“I saw you had an understanding with him.  I see you have a new ring on your finger; but how could I suppose you would encourage an only son thus to leave his parents?”

“Hush, hush, Naomi!” cried Anne, as the uncontrollable tears broke out.  “Don’t you believe that it is quite as hard for me as for them that he should have gone off to fight those dreadful blood-thirsty Turks?  Indeed I would have hindered him, but that—­but that—­I know it is best for him.  No!  I can’t tell you why, but I know it is; and even to the very last, when he helped me down the companion-ladder, I hoped he might be coming home first.”

“But you are troth-plight to him, and secretly?”

“I am not troth-plight; I know I am not his equal, I told him so, but he thrust this ring on me in the boat, in the dark, and how could I give it back!”

Naomi shook her head, but was more than half-disarmed by her friend’s bitter weeping.  Whether she gave any hint to Mr. Fellowes Anne did not know, but his manner remained drily courteous, and as Anne had to ride on a pillion behind a servant she was left in a state of isolation as to companionship, which made her feel herself in disgrace, and almost spoilt the joy of dear familiar recognition of hill, field, and tree, after her long year’s absence, the longest year in her life, and substituted the sinking of heart lest she should be returning to hear of misfortune and disaster, sickness or death.

Her original plan had been to go on with Naomi to Portchester at once, if by inquiry at Fareham she found that her uncle was at home, but she perceived that Mr. Fellowes decidedly wished that Miss Darpent should go first to the Archfields, and something within her determined first to turn thither in spite of all there was to encounter, so that she might still her misgivings by learning whether her uncle was well.  So she bade the man turn his horse’s head towards the well-known poplars in front of Archfield House.

The sound of the trampling horses brought more than one well-known old ‘blue-coated serving-man’ into the court, and among them a woman with a child in her arms.  There was the exclamation, “Mistress Anne!  Sure Master Charles be not far behind,” and the old groom ran to help her down.

“Oh!  Ralph, thanks.  All well?  My uncle?”

“He is here, with his Honour,” and in scarcely a moment more Lucy, swift of foot, had flown out, and had Anne in her embrace, and crying out—­